


let me count the ways

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multiple Pov, alex is an adopted ortecho, no alien stuff, rating will change accordingly if it needs to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: liz ortecho isn't allowed to date until her snarky, determined-not-to-date brother, alex ortecho, does. luckily, one of her suitors has a plan. well, max goes to isobel for a plan, which involves getting their brother, michael, to woo alex.or, the10 things i hate about youAU





	1. i don't give a damn about my reputation

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently my purpose in life is to write fic based on [tumblr posts](https://andrea-lyn.tumblr.com/post/185888044297) now. this is my first time writing the pov of anyone who's not alex/michael so be gentle.
> 
> this is so silly. please enjoy.

**(liz)**

“ _ Papi!  _ That’s so not fair!” Liz whines, dropping down onto one of the stools at the Crashdown. “Alex doesn’t date. He doesn’t  _ want _ to date anyone!”

“Untrue,” Alex corrects her, not looking up from the book he’s reading. “I just don’t want to date any of the unshowered, unkempt, mouth-breathing arseholes we go to school with

“Alex,  _ language _ ,” their father chides him, but he’s smiling. He turns his attention back to Liz. “I’m sorry  _ mihija _ , but that’s the rule. No dating until your brother does.”

“Rosa gets to date!” Liz continues to protest.

“Yes,” Arturo agrees. “ _ Mierda _ . And what a disaster that was. I could not keep your sister safe, but I will not fail to do so with you two.” He points his spatula at Liz, then at Alex. With a satisfied  _ hmph _ he returns to the kitchen, leaving Alex at the mercy of his sister.

“Please, Alex,” she starts in immediately. “Can’t you go out on just  _ one  _ date? Take Maria out to dinner or something.”

Alex raises a dark eyebrow but doesn’t look up. She’d be jealous of his eye make-up if they hadn’t spend hours practising together in front of the bathroom mirror, Rosa commentating in the background. “Dad knows I’m gay, Liz. I don’t think dinner and a movie with Maria is going to fool him.”

“So take out a  _ boy _ ,” Liz presses. “You don’t even have to talk to him. Just go to a movie and sit at opposite ends of the theatre.  _ Please _ .”

Alex sighs, shuts his book, and turns to look at her with fond exasperation. Instead of answering her plea, he enquires: “You’re practically begging for a month of dishes-duty. Who’s got you this desperate?”

Liz’s cheeks colour in the response. She ducks her head shyly, lifting it back up with her wide smile. “Kyle Valenti may have shown an interest.”

“ _ Really _ , Liz?” Alex scowls. “That’s sweet, but I’m not going out with some idiot so you can spend the afternoon canoodling and discussing the  _ big game  _ with Kyle Bro-Jock Valenti. Besides, Rosa’s right. There’s nothing redeemable about highschool boys.”

“ _ You’re  _ a highschool boy,” Liz accuses him, lips in full pout. 

He grins at her, all sharp teeth and sparkling eyes. “Well, I’d know then, wouldn’t I?”

“Argh!” Liz throws her hands in the air. “You’re all impossible.”

_ You're all impossible _ ," Alex mimics her, making a face.

Liz just makes a sound of disgust and heads behind the counter, up the stairs and to her room. She flops backwards onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, despite the fact that no one can see her, and decides to spend the whole night being miserable.

*

So, when Max Evans shyly asks her if she'd like to  _ umm see a movie sometime _ , Liz feels even more miserable when she explains why she has to say no. They're sitting in the library for their usual weekly study session -- where she explains the biology homework and he waxes poetic about, well, poetics. He looks so dejected that she has to assure him:

"If Alex  _ ever _ went on a date, I would definitely think about it."

Max stares at her a moment. Then: "What if we found him a date?"

Liz laughs, but stops at the look on Max's face. "Oh, you're serious." She folds her hands neatly over her open biology textbook. "Alex won't date highschool boys. He says they're stupid, dirty, and not worth the headache."

"Well if there's someone he  _ would  _ date," Max says. "I'm sure my sister could find them."

Liz's eyebrows go to her hairline. Max isn't wrong. Isobel Evans was social dynamite. She knew more about everyone in school than anyone else and had the moxy to follow up on the information.

"What if I ask for her help?" Max presses gently.

"You would do that for me?" Liz asks.

Max's eyes go wide. "Oh, I would do  _ anything _ ."

Liz ducks her head to smile softly, then turns it up to full force when she looks back up at him.

"Okay," she agrees. "Let's find someone to date my brother."

*

**(isobel)**

"You realise this is a waste of my social powers, yes?" Isobel asks, popping a fry in her mouth.

Max makes puppy dog eyes at her from across their table in the cafeteria, his own meal forgotten in front of him in favour of begging for her help.

“ _ Please _ , Iz,” he whines. “I just need her brother to go out on  _ one _ date. I know I’ll only need one to convince Liz that we’re meant to be together.”

Isobel rolls her eyes at her brother. His crush on Liz isn’t a new thing but his willingness to make a move  _ is _ . She wonders if, by helping him over this hurdle, she might finally experience peace and quiet re: Liz Ortecho. If they’re too busy staring into each other’s eyes, Max won’t have a chance to drone on and on about her.

“Alright,” she says, stealing one of his onion rings. “I’ll help you.”

His expression lights up and she can’t help but be pleased at putting that look on her brother’s face. She doesn’t have time to focus on that though; there’s a plan to be made and her mind is already working at five-times the speed. 

“We need a viable candidate,” she murmurs, more to herself than Max, as her eyes scan the cafeteria. “Someone who’s gay, obviously, or bi. Has to be out, or at least not trembling in fear at the thought of holding another guy’s hand…”

Max makes a noise of agreement beside her. Both their gazes are drawn to the other side of the cafeteria, where Alex Ortecho is kneeing Wyatt Long, known racist and homophobe, in the junk.

Isobel laughs. “Good for him. Definitely has to be someone who won’t be put off by the attitude though.”

Which is when, as if by magic, her second brother comes rushing through the cafeteria doors and towards their table. Michael is a mess of curls, a ratty black t-shirt and jeans with holes at the knees. He flips someone off as he pushes past them, then his face goes soft when he sees Isobel and Max.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, as he slides into a chair on the other side of the table. “I set something on fire in chem.”

Isobel grins.

“Michael,” she says sweetly. “How would you like to be involved in an experiment?”

Max catches on quickly and stares at her with wide eyes, shakes his head in a panic.

Michael reaches over to steal a handful of Max’s fries. “What kind of experiment?” he asks around the mouthful.

“A social one,” is Isobel’s diplomatic answer. Max looks like he might pass out.

Michael smiles at her ruefully. “You know I don’t have the time or the patience for that shit, Iz. Besides, Maxwell looks like he’s gonna have a stroke.”

She nods thoughtfully. She’d anticipated that response, of course. Michael may have been some kind of kid genius but she knew she could run circles around these boys.

“What if I could make it worth your while?” she asks, eyes scanning the cafeteria again. “What if it could be a paid venture?”

Michael’s hand stills, halfway to Max’s lunch tray again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re out of the closet, right?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not gonna hang a flag from my locker but yeah, it’s not a secret or anything.”

Isobel smiles at him, pleased by his response but also with a little pride. “Okay, then we need to find a backer.”

“A backer?” Max sounds dubious, but she ignores him.

“Someone with money,” she explains. “Someone with a stake in the game. Someone... stupid.” Her gaze falls on the jock’s table and her face splits into a sly grin. “Bingo.”

Max follows her line of sight, groans, and drops his head onto the table.

Michael juts shrugs and pulls Max’s abandoned lunch tray over, digging in.

*

Getting Kyle to agree to the deal is so easy, Isobel almost feels sorry for him. He eagerly accepts her choice of candidate and she returns to the table to tell Max the good news.

*

**(michael)**

Michael’s sitting on the bleachers, making notes for his advanced chemistry class, when Kyle Valenti approaches him. He’d tuned out the end of Isobel’s phase planning in the cafeteria but he does vaguely remember something about jocks, and Kyle Valenti is definitely a jock.

“Can I help you?” he asks, when Kyle looks at him expectantly.

“Uh, yeah,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious. “I want you to take out Alex Ortecho. See, his sister is Liz Ortecho, and their dad has this crazy rule where she’s not allowed to date unless he does. And I  _ really  _ want to date her.”

Michael squints at him. He’s trying to put this into the context of his conversation with Isobel earlier but the pieces aren’t quite fitting. “I’m waiting for the part where that’s my problem, Valenti.”

Kyle sighs. “I want you to take out Ortecho. Alex, not Liz.” He points down towards the field where the boys’ field hockey team is currently practising. They both watch as Alex’s stick connects with the back of another player’s knees, after which he takes control of the ball and heads towards the goals.

As if Michael needed him to point out Alex “skinny jeans and black eyeliner” Ortecho.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says, turning back to his notes. He may have been slow on the uptake regarding Isobel’s plan, but he’s caught up now. He knows there’s more to this deal.

“Fine.” Kyle looks put out. “What if I made it worth your while?”

Michael raises his head to fix Kyle with a raised eyebrow. “You’re gonna  _ pay  _ me to go out with some guy?” He can’t believe Isobel convinced this idiot. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised though; he’d seen her do worse. “How much?”

“Twenty bucks,” Kyle replies, like he’s thought about it for a long time and come to the conclusion that this is a reasonable amount to be paid when taking out some guy so that you can date his sister.

They both look back to the field where Alex has just stood up from tackling one of the other players to the ground. He’s wiping blood away from his nose.

“Thirty bucks,” Kyle says quickly.

Michael tilts his head to the side and makes a thoughtful noise. “Now, let’s think about this, Valenti. Say we go to the drive-in; that’s twenty bucks. Meal and a shake from the Crashdown? That’s forty. Oh, and we have to get that caramel popcorn from the stand. So --” he pretends to do the math in his head, like he’s not a fucking genius. “I’m looking at sixty bucks, and that’s without anything left over for me.”

Kyle snarls. “This isn’t a negotiation, trailerpark. Take it or leave it.”

“That would hurt, Valenti,” Michael says, pressing a hand to his heart. “But I’d have to  _ have _ a trailer to live in a trailer park.” He waits a few beats and when Kyle just glowers at him, he adds: “Sixty bucks and it’s a deal.”

“Fine,” Kyle says, through gritted teeth. He pulls out his wallet and begrudgingly hands Michael the sixty bucks, which he tucks into his back pocket.

“Good doing business with you,” Michael says, then waves Kyle off. “Now go. Shoo!”

He waits until the hockey practice looks like it’s dying down before he makes his way to the bottom of the bleachers and onto the field, timing it just right that he reaches Alex just as he’s packing things into his gym bag.

“Hey, Ortecho.”

It takes a second for Alex to look up. When he does, it’s with confusion.

Michael falters for a second at the sight of Alex’s face without his signature eyeliner, without the nose ring. “Uh -- how ya doin’?”

Alex blinks at him, then takes a swig from his drink bottle. “Sweating like a sinner in church,” he replies. “Was there something you wanted?”

“You, actually,” Michael tells him, quickly gathering his wits. He cocks his head and fixes Alex with his most charming smile. “I’m thinking Friday.”

Alex laughs, hoists his gym bag strap over his shoulder, and then turns and walks away.

Michael follows him, jogging a little at first to catch up. “I’m serious. Pick you up Friday?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Alex nods his head in an exaggerated manner, tone prickling with sarcasm. “Friday. Absolutely.”

“I’ll show you a great time,” Michael assures him.

That makes Alex scoff. His pace hasn’t slowed and they’re nearing the edge of the field. “A great time?” he asks, incredulous. “Where? In the back of your truck? In the alley behind the Crashdown? I think I'll pass. Do you even know a thing about me, cowboy?”

“I know more than you think,” Michael tries.

“Sure,” Alex says, with the kind of finality that makes Michael stop. He watches Alex walk away and back towards the school campus, grumbles at the fact that the guy doesn’t look back even once. He knows he’s not going to get anywhere with this today. He can try again tomorrow. Alex Ortecho is a challenge, but Michael’s never backed down from a challenge. This encounter has confirmed two things for him though.

One; Alex is just as hot after hockey practice, sweaty and pissed off, as he is scribbling in his notebook in their third period English class.

Two; Michael’s going to woo the shit out of him.


	2. am i more than you bargained for yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are just the fuckin sweetest. i'm so glad people are liking this silly little venture. hmu on [tumblr](http://queersirius.tumblr.com/ask) if there's anything you need.
> 
> these are unbetad, just fyi. all mistakes are miiiiine.

**(alex)**

When Michael Guerin presses himself up against his locker, Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before engaging.

"Hi," Guerin says, leaning in a way that extends the long line of his body. Alex doesn't let his gaze linger. "How are you feeling about Friday?"

"Are you stalking me?" Alex asks, swapping a chem textbook for a history one.

"I was on my way to maths," Michael explains. "And I saw you. Figured I'd say hi."

"Hi," is his response. He zips up his bag and pulls the strap over his shoulder.

"You're not much of a talker, huh?" Michael asks.

Alex takes another deep breath. He can't afford another detention for brawling on campus. "I'm plenty chatty when there's someone worth talking to."

His adversary doesn't even blink. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asks, and he even looks a little impressed at the thought.

"Why would I be afraid of you?" Alex asks, bewildered. There's nothing frightening about this knock-off cowboy. He's undeniably attractive, Alex isn't blind after all, in a runaway-genius, devil-may-care kind of way. But nothing about him inspires fear in Alex.

Michael shrugs. "Most people are."

Alex stares at him, still unsure about the goal of this interaction. "Well, I'm not. You're about as scary as a kitten in a sweater."

That makes Michael grin. "Okay, but I bet you've thought about me naked."

 _This_ again? "You've figured me out," Alex deadpans. "I want you, baby. I _need_ you. Take me right here in the hallway."

He makes a noise of disgust, low in his throat, and pushes away from his locker, only for the corridor to be blocked by Kyle Valenti's posse, yelling and celebrating something.

"Do you mind?" Alex shouts over their cheering.

Kyle shrugs at him with a shit-eating grin. "Not really!" he shouts back.

Alex narrows his eyes. He looks around the hallway, spotting a fire extinguisher off to his left. He pushes past Michael to wrench the extinguisher from the wall. He turns it on the crowd and lets loose, spraying all the jocks with foam.

"What the hell?!" Kyle screeches. "You little bitch!"

"There's a joke here about you being covered in white cream," Alex says. "I'm sure even your tiny brain can find it, Kyle."

Michael is bowled over with laughter behind him. Alex drops the extinguisher against the wall, turns around, and walks down the hallway in the other direction.

*

" _Alexander_ ," his father chides him. "This is the third call from the school this month."

Alex grumbles, his face in a milkshake.

"Speak up, _mi hijo_."

He lifts his head a little. "Just tell them I'm acting out. I'll cry through one session with the counsellor and all will be forgiven."

Arturo fixes him with a look. "Is there something going on? Something we need to talk about?"

Alex peers at him across the counter. "Have you signed those college applications yet?"

That earns him a sigh. "We've talked about this, Alex. I don't want you going so far from home."

"I want to go to a good music school!" Alex protests. "That means I have to leave New Mexico. I haven't even gotten in yet because you won't let me apply!"

Arturo frowns. "Is this what is wrong with you? Are you acting out because of these applications?"

Alex glares at him and goes for the jugular: "Why are you punishing me for things that Rosa did?"

As expected, the blow hits his father hard. He almost regrets it.

"You leave her out of this." Arturo waves his spatula in Alex's direction.

"How can I?" Alex continues, relentless. "Every part of our lives is dictated by what Rosa did or didn't do. Newsflash, pops; Liz and I aren't Rosa."

Arturo opens his mouth to continue the argument but the bell above the door rings and they both turn to see a customer enter.

" _Ay dios mio_." Arturo exhales an angry breath. "We will continue this later," he says, then plasters on a smile for the customer.

"Can't wait," Alex mumbles, returning to his milkshake.

He has five minutes of peace before Liz comes rushing down the stairs, phone in hand.

"Did you seriously spray the entire football team with foam today?" she demands to know.

Alex's frustrated expression transforms into a grin. "I got the whole team?"

Liz throws a napkin at him.

*

**(michael)**

Kyle corners him in the boys' locker room after gym.

"This is quite homoerotic," he says as he pulls his shirt down over his head.

Kyle scowls at him. Michael's reminded of Alex's kitten in a sweater simile, though Valenti is more like an angry ferret.

"When I fork out sixty bucks," Kyle says. "I expect results. You're supposed to be dating the guy, not watching while he sprays my team with a fire extinguisher."

"Yeah, I'm on it," Michael says.

"Good." Kyle starts to walk away and Michael makes a decision..

"I just upped my price, Valenti."

Kyle turns back around to look at him with barely contained rage. "What?"

"Yeah," Michael says, liking his initiative in this matter. Isobel will be proud. "A hundred bucks. A date. In advance."

Kyle shakes his head. "You're crazy, Guerin. No way. Forget about it."

"Then forget about Liz, dude."

Kyle seethes quietly for a moment, but Michael knows he's got him. That thought is confirmed when a second later, Kyle fishes another forty dollars from his wallet and hands it over.

"You better be as fucking smooth as Isobel says you are, man."

Michael just pockets the money and grins at him as pulls out a smoke to light. Then he pushes past Kyle and out of the locker room.

*

Max and Isobel come to him during shop. He gestures for them to wait while he uses the buffer, then sets his project down on the desk and takes the work goggles off.

“Am I giving off more pheromones than usual?” he asks them.

They look at each other, making identical faces with their weird twin telepathy thing, then turn back to him and wait patiently for the joke.

“Cause I’m so popular today,” Michael explains. “I’ve already had a talk with Valenti.”

Isobel claps her hands together. “Oh good, you took the deal.”

“Yup,” he confirms, popping the ‘p’. “Even managed to squeeze a few more bucks from him today.”

“Good work,” Isobel praises him. “Okay, so we’re going to help you.”

Michael looks from her, to Max who’s nodding brightly beside her, then back to Isobel. “Why?”

Isobel’s pleased expression morphs into one of disappointment. “ _Michael_ ,” she scolds him. “So Max can date Liz, obviously.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What is it about Liz Ortecho?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Isobel says, waving a hand. “It’s not important. What _is_ important is that you’re doing this for Max.”

“I’m doing this for the cash,” Michael corrects her. “I don’t care who dates Liz.”

“I do!” Max protests.

“Yes, Max, we know,” Isobel pats his arm in a consoling manner. “Listen here, Michael. I did not set all of this up so that Kyle could date the so-called _love of Max’s life_. He is the pawn in this scenario. Understand?”

Michael nods his head slowly, lest any sudden movement set off her wrath. “Okay, I get it. And you guys are gonna help me _how_ exactly?”

“We’re going to do some research,” Isobel explains proudly. “Find out what he’s into, what kind of guys he likes. There has to be a soft centre in there somewhere. Or at the very least, a horny one.”

“I’ll actually be the one doing the research,” Max comments. “Since I’m friends with Liz.”

Isobel looks heavenward. “Lord help us all,” she says. “Now, Tess Harding is having a party at her parents’ place this Friday. It’s the perfect opportunity to make a move.”

Michael snorts. “A _move_? What makes you think I haven’t made one already?”

“If you had done so _successfully_ , I wouldn’t need to be here.” Isobel presses her lips together, unimpressed. “Take Alex to the party.”

He thinks about the responses he’s gotten the last two times he’s approached Alex.

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” he promises.

“Do more than just think about it, Michael,” Isobel says, making prolonged eye contact. “We’ll be back with information.”

“Can’t wait,” Michael says without feeling, watching Isobel stalk out of the workshop with Max smiling ruefully over his shoulder as he follows her.

*

**(liz)**

“I need your opinion on something,” Kyle says, leaning against Liz’s locker. “It’s really important.”

Liz turns to him with a smile. “Okay. Shoot.”

He holds up two photos of himself, posing with a football and one of his arms tensed in a way to show off his bicep.

“I’m trying to pick a photo to send off with college applications,” he explained, motioning to the photos. “Which do you like better?”

Liz blinked at him in confusion and then looked back at the photos with renewed determination. _Ah, light-bulb moment_. She hadn’t even realised that the jersey he was wearing was a different colour in photograph.

“Uh,” she says, gaze flicking between the two. “I think the blue looks better?”

Kyle’s lips curl into a slow smirk and he nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It makes me look more --”

“Qualified?” Liz suggests, hopefully.

“Dammit.” Kyle shakes his head with a sigh. “I was thinking _professional_.”

Liz laughs out loud, then tries to hide the sound in a cough.

“Hope you’re not coming down with something,” Kyle says, leaning his body at an angle towards her. “You going to Harding’s party on Friday?”

Liz shrugs one shoulder as she takes her textbooks out of her locker, adjusting her bag on her shoulder before closing the locker. “I might be.”

“Brilliant.” Kyle reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Cause you know there’s no reason for me to go if you’re not gonna be there.”

“ _Kyle_.” She smiles and ducks her head.

The class bell rings out across the hallway. Kyle leans back and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ll see you there.”

Liz bites her lip. “Okay.”

They turn at the same time to walk to their respective classes. Liz is so giddy with the prospect of being at Tess Harding’s party _with_ Kyle Valenti that she nearly sits at the wrong desk in her biology class.

*

She only feels a little guilty when she’s walking home later with Max Evans in tow. They’re sharing a pair of headphones and she has her Bright Eyes collection playing. It’s nice that they don’t have to talk to make the silence not awkward. She especially likes that he doesn’t try to talk to her about football.

“Hey, have you heard about Tess’ party on Friday?” he asks her.

She turns to look at him in surprise, then pouts. “Yes. I’d love to go, but my dad says that the no dating rule includes parties. I can’t go if Alex doesn’t go.”

Max gives a little groan of frustration. “I’m working on it. Well, Isobel is. So far, Alex isn’t going for her guy.”

Liz shrugs, kicking a loose stone as they walk. “Maybe my brother’s love life is beyond even your sister.”

“Nuh-uh. Not possible.” Max shakes his head. His complete faith in his sister is charming, if a little strange. “Do you know what kind of guys he _does_ like? Uh, obviously not jocks. What about smart guys? Pretty guys?”

Liz considers this as Conor Oberst croons through her earbud: _I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss._

“I don’t actually know,” she admits eventually. “He definitely doesn’t like smokers. Or, yeah, jocks.” She laughs and Max laughs with her.

“Ok _aaay_ ,” Max draws out the word. “What else? I need a little more to go on than that, I think.”

“We don’t talk about boys,” Liz tells him, trying not to sound too upset about the fact. She wonders if Alex talks to Rosa about boys when she calls. What else are we supposed to do? Rummage around in his room for a secret _Boys I Like_ list?”

Max shrugs. “Uh -- nothing else has worked so far. Isobel said something about going behind enemy lines?”

Liz purses her lips. It’s a wildly bad idea but she _wants_ this to work. “Okay. He’s got music practice until five, so we’ve got the all clear until then.” She grabs Max’s hand, ignoring the squeaking sound that he makes, and pulls him towards the Crashdown.

*

Liz has never seen another teenage boy’s bedroom, but she has to imagine they’re less organised than Alex’s. His clothes are sitting on the edge of his bed, but at least they’re folded into a neat pile. His acoustic guitar is set up to the side of his work desk, which is about as messy as hers. There are posters plastered all over the walls, leaving none of the ceiling and almost none of the white paint of the walls.

“Right, okay.” Liz places her hands on her hips as she looks around the room, inspecting gaze trailing over her brother’s various belongings. Max stands silent behind her, only one foot over the threshold.

“Guitar, obviously. He loves music. Lots of black jewellery. Stretchers; _ay dios mio_ those holes in his ears just get bigger and bigger.” She steps forward to go through the things on the desk. “Let’s see. Class schedule, reading list, ooh!” She produced two pieces of paper. “Tickets to see Danger! At The Picture Show. That could be helpful.” She turns to look at Max. “Are you writing this down?”

Max fumbles for his bag, assumedly looking for a pen and paper.

Liz grins wide and unabashed, letting out a sweet laugh before returning to the desk drawers. “Max, I’m kidding. You don’t need to write any of this -- oh my _god._ ” Her eyes go wide as she pulls a length of condoms from the desk.

Max goes bright red. “Maybe he’s just -- uh -- maybe they’re from health class?”

Liz shoves the packets back into the drawer and closes it. “I think that’s enough revelations for one afternoon.”

After a few moments of silence, Max clears his throat. “So uh -- can I see your room?”

Liz’s head whips around to face him. “No,” she replies quickly, then gathers her composure. “No. A girl’s room is private and personal.”

“Oh.” Max nods his head sagely.

Liz clears her throat this time. “Come on. Let’s go down and get some Little Green Men shakes.”


	3. let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing's pretty much writing itself at this point.
> 
> you're all wonderful and i adore you!!

**(michael)**

“You know it’s okay to not constantly be attached at the hip, right?” Michael eyes the Evans twins as they join him in the Wild Pony. “Can you guys even be in here?”

Isobel flips her hair over her shoulder. “We’re nearly eighteen, and it’s not like DeLuca’s mum would serve us drinks.”

Max moves to touch something and she slaps his hand away.

“Don’t touch anything,” she scolds him. “You might catch something.”

Michael narrows his eyes at her. “I’ll thank you not to insult my favourite bar.”

Isobel just turns and smiles sweetly at him. “We have information for you. Some insight into a very complicated boy.”

“Go on,” Michael says, returning to his game of pool. He’s in the middle of a hustle and he’s not about to stop that for Isobel’s little social experiment. He takes a drag of his cigarette and goes to set it down on an ashtray nearby.

Isobel scowls. “First things first,” she says, snatching the cigarette mid-journey and stubs it out in the ashtray. “Alex doesn’t like smokers.”

“Christ.” Michael turns and takes his shot. His opponent grumbles with displeasure. “Any other civil liberties you’d like to take from me while we’re at it?”

“Don’t be such a grouch.” Isobel rolls her eyes. “It’s just for now. There is another problem though.” She looks to Max with a slight furrow in her otherwise perfect brow.

“Spit it out,” Michael tells her. It can’t honestly be worse than being told what he can or can’t smoke.

Max looks at Isobel pleadingly but she doesn’t relent. He takes a deep breath: “We think Alex might like -- uh -- pretty guys.” When his words are met with stony silence, he immediately begins to babble. “He’s got all these posters of guys from bands and they’re all -- um -- Liz said that they were  _ pretty _ . Like, they wear makeup and have lots of product in their hair and piercings…” he trails off, looking at Michael uncertainly.

Michael looks to Isobel and then back to Max. “Are you saying I’m not pretty, Max?”

Max’s eyes go wide and he starts stuttering, tripping over his words, and Michael just laughs.

“Relax, bro,” he says, reaching over to slap Max on the shoulder. “I’m kidding.” He quickly shifts his gaze to Isobel. “You’re not turning me into some boy band wannabe.”

Isobel puts up her hands placatingly. “Fine. We’ll work with what we’ve got.” She reaches a hand out to Max, gesturing for him to hand her something. Max digs into his pocket and produces a piece of paper, which he places in Isobel’s hand. She unfurls the paper and clears her throat.

“Alright, let’s see. Likes: Mexican food, science fiction novels, and “sad boy music of the pop-rock persuasion”. Ooh, that’s a quote from Liz.” She grins as she looks up from the list. “Apparently there’s some concert tomorrow night that he’s got tickets for?” She looks to Max for confirmation.

Max nods enthusiastically. “Danger! At The Picture Show. At Saturn’s Rings.”

Michael makes the final shot on the pool table. His adversary swears loudly and hands over some cash. He counts it, shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans, and then turns to his siblings. “How does this help me?” he asks. “Should I buy him a meal at the diner he lives above? Sit around listening to songs about breaking free from your hometown?”

Isobel narrows her eyes at him. “How about you start by going to Saturn’s Rings tomorrow night?”

“I can’t be seen there,” Michael looks at her imploringly.

“But Alex will definitely be there,” Max argues. “I saw the tickets.”

Michael rubs at his eyes tiredly. “I guess I could put up with the pop-punk nonsense for a night.”

Isobel pats his shoulder. “That’s a boy.”

Max leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “He’s got a packet of rubbers, if that helps.”

Michael stares at him until he steps back, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Isobel makes a noise of disgust. “ _ Boys _ .”

*

Which is how Michael finds himself squeezing into Saturn’s Rings on a Wednesday night. It’s more crowded than usual, flooded with people of all ages but there’s definitely a disproportionate amount of teenagers in black clothes. The band’s already playing but that’s okay because he’s not here to catch the concert. He approaches the bar instead.

“Guerin?” The bartender asks, eyeing him with surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Michael replies over the noise. “I’ll grab a beer.”

“Very funny.” The bartender passes him over a soda. “Who you looking for?”

Michael scans the crowd, grins when he finds his target. “Never mind. Found them.”

He lets his gaze settle on Alex Ortecho. Dark, spiked hair is paired with the solid black stretchers in his ears, the eyeliner that makes his eyes pop, the black shirt stretched across his chest, the equally black jeans clinging to his legs. He’s dancing next to Maria DeLuca, who looks gorgeous in her brightly coloured skirt and black leather jacket, but Michael finds that he can’t take his eyes off Alex for long. He’s dancing with the kind of carefree joy that he’s never shown at school, arms waving in the air and face split into a wide smile.

Michael’s heart  _ tha-thumps  _ in his chest. He watches as Alex leans over and says something to DeLuca, then turns and heads towards the bar. Michael quickly returns his gaze to the back of the bar.

He feels as Alex leans across the bar beside him and shouts: “Two waters, please!” He also feels the moment that Alex notices him, the whole length of his body tensing.

Michael stares ahead, nodding his head along to the music.

“This is pathetic,” Alex says. “Come on then, let’s get this over with.”

He turns to look at Alex, schooling his features into careful surprise, like he’s just noticed him. Alex is leaning against the bar, angled towards the stage.

Michael coughs back a laugh and motions to the stage in question. “I’m just here to enjoy the music, Oretcho.”

Alex’s eyes narrow. His eyes are dark in the low light. Michael watches his tongue flicker out across his lips.

“I’m not choking on your usual shroud of smoke,” is what he says.

Michael tries not to grin as he blesses Isobel’s acuity. “I quit,” he explains. “Apparently they’re bad for you, or something.”

He has the joy of watching surprise bloom across Alex’s face. “You -- really?”

He nods his head, then turns around to fully face the stage, where the band has just started another song. “You know, these guys aren’t too bad,” he says, and it’s the truth. He’s half enjoying himself and he thinks that, given a listen through an album or two, he could be convinced to like these guys. “I mean, they’re no Sugarcult or Say Anything, but they can play.”

He leaves Alex with that as he heads out into the crowd, no real goal in mind except to see if Alex follows him.

He does, two water bottles in hand.

“You know Sugarcult?” he asks, eyes wide like he hasn’t had time to school his expression yet.

Michael grins at him, thanking Isobel once again for her social prowess. “Yeah, don’t you?” He watches a second of annoyance flicker across Alex’s face. “I was watching you dance before.” He gestures with his head to where Maria is swaying in time to the music, and shouts over the music: “You looked hot.”

A couple of people turn to look at them and Michael laughs, a little embarrassed. He rubs at the back of his neck but his focus doesn’t waver from Alex. “Come to Harding’s party with me.”

Alex seems to remember then who he’s talking to and he raises one dark, perfect eyebrow. “You never give up, do you?” He shakes his head with a laugh and walks back towards Maria.

“Is that a yes?” Michael yells after him.

“No!” Alex calls back over his shoulder.

“Is that a no?”

“No!”

Michael can hear the grin in the word and he can’t help but answer with his own. “I’ll see you at ten!”

Alex doesn’t respond this time, heading back to Maria to hand her one of the bottles of water. Soon enough, they’re dancing again. Michael makes his way back to the bar and gets another drink, settling in to the stool with a good view of Alex.

He can stand to stay for another song. Or two.

*

**(alex)**

Come Friday, he hasn't forgotten about the party, but he's settling into the couch with a book in a way that firmly implies he won’t be going anywhere for the foreseeable future. Which is why he hears when his father catches someone on the stares.

“Where do you think you’re going,  _ mija _ ?” Arturo asks.

“Hi,  _ papi _ ,” comes Liz’s sweet voice.

“You might have had more luck climbing down the fire escape,” he says. “Where are you going?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and Alex can imagine Liz tilting her head from side to side, flashing that sweet smile at their father.

“A small gathering of friends and like-minded people?” she tries.

Arturo snorts an unamused laugh. “Do you think I was not once a teenager? Who is the boy?”

“It’s a  _ party _ ,” Liz tells him. “Not a boy. My friends will be there.”

“As will many boys,” Arturo says. “Alexander!”

Alex turns his head casually to look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Do you know about this party? Are you going?”

He shakes his head, scrunching up his expression. “God, no. A party at Tess Harding’s house is just an excuse for everyone to drink bad beer, do keg stands, and make out like the world is ending. Just stepping inside that house is going to be grounds for a health check.”

Arturo turns back to Liz with a hard frown. “If Alex isn’t going, neither are you,  _ mija _ .”

“But I’m expected there!” Liz protests. “I’ll be letting people down if I don’t show my face.” She walks over and lies herself across the couch, pressing her forehead into the side of Alex’s leg. “Please, can’t you be sociable for one night? Will it kill you?”

“It might,” Alex answers, deadpan.

Liz makes a noise of frustration into the couch cushion. “ _ Please _ , Alex. Just one party? Can you please forget that you hate everyone and everything for one night and be my brother? Just do this one thing for me?”

Alex looks down at her, black hair fanning out and falling over her shoulders. He can’t see her face but he can tell by the way she’s talking that her eyes are scrunched up, trying to hold back tears, that her voice is getting smaller and smaller with each  _ please _ . The thought of going to Tess Harding’s party makes him want to curl into a blanket burrito on his bed and blast sad music, or maybe break things. Either way, he desperately doesn’t want to go, but he also can’t remember the last time he made Liz cry.

He takes a deep breath, clears his throat.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Liz rears back, nearly braining the both of them, and her face is alight with happiness.

“Really?” she asks, eyes wide and soulful.

“If it means that much to you,” he confirms, though he’s already regretting the decision.

Liz lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck. “Yes! Thank you, thank you!” she cries, then she’s back on her feet, grabbing the bag that she must have dropped on her way over.

“ _ Ay dios mio _ ,” Arturo says, looking heavenward.

“It’s just a party,  _ papi _ ,” Liz says, like that’s going to assure him, and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before bouncing gleefully down the stairs.

Alex puts his book down, grabs his jacket from the side of the couch, and stands up to follow her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Arturo says, just as they pass by the kitchen and into the main diner. Both siblings turn to look at him. “Listen to me: no alcohol, no drugs, no kissing boys,” he points at both of them. “No tattoos, no piercings, no joining any cults, no crossing state borders…”

“We get it, dad,” Alex says in exasperation. “C’mon, Liz. I’ll drive.” He walks past her to open the front door and freezes at what he sees standing on their front step.

Michael Guerin grins back at him. He’s cleaned up. Or at least, he’s as cleaned up as Alex imagines he ever gets. His curls look a little more tamed than they had at school, he’s wearing a pair of jeans that don’t seem to have any holes in them, and a nice white shirt that stretches over his chest, underneath a plain black hoodie.

He looks  _ good  _ and Alex’s mouth goes dry for a second.

"What are you doing here?" he asks when he finds his voice.

"Ten o'clock, right?" Michael holds up his wrist and looks down at an old watch. "Oh, I'm early."

Alex stares at him incredulously. He's still not sure what he's done to catch the attention of Michael "devil-may-care" Guerin, but he doesn't intend to keep it for much longer.

"My sister's coming with us," he says, gesturing to Liz. Surely that won't appeal to his "bad boy" attitude.

She waves a hand at him. "Hi."

Michael smiles at her, far more charming than he has any right to be. "Hey yourself." He turns back to Alex. "Fine by me."

Alex groans and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I'm driving."

He pushes past Michael and out the front door, regret already settling heavy in his chest.

*

The party is in full swing by the time they get there. Alex stops Liz before they walk in the front door.

“Rules,” he says, knowing she’ll understand. “Text me when you want to go home.”

She just pats his face sweetly and then disappears into the house.

He considers just going back to sit in the car, but that’s when Michael comes to stand beside him. Alex takes a deep breath and goes into the house.

The music is too loud to enjoy and the bass is boosted to a criminal level. Drunk teenagers litter the corridors, dancing or shouting at each other or making out. Alex pushes through the clumps of party-goers, not sure exactly where he’s going or what he’s looking for, but determined to stay on the move until he doesn’t feel like punching the next person he encounters.

Which is of course when he runs straight into Kyle Valenti.

“Ortecho!” Kyle exclaims, looking far too pleased with himself for Alex’s liking. “Here to see if you can drink the gay away?”

Alex’s brow furrows and he leans forward into Kyle’s space. “Careful, Valenti. I think I see some wrinkle lines.”

Kyle reaches up to cover his forehead with his hand, eyes wide with fear for a moment before settling into a scowl. Alex grins at him and turns to walk away.

“Hey, your sister here?”

He rounds on Kyle in record time, back up in his space with a threatening finger pointed at his chest.

“Stay away from my sister,” he says firmly. He’s not even in the vicinity of fucking around, and Kyle knows that he’s got years of _krav maga_ classes to back it up.

“Okay, okay. You got it, tough guy.” Kyle raises his hands placatingly. His lips curve into a smirk. “Can’t guarantee she’s gonna stay away from  _ me  _ though.”

One of the other jocks calls Kyle’s name from the next room. He spares a moment to smirk one more time in Alex’s direction before disappearing through the door.

Not for the first time, Alex wishes he’d stayed home. He wishes Maria were here, though he knows she wouldn’t be caught dead here and he should have maintained the same attitude. He spots Isobel and Max Evans walking down the corridor and ducks into the next room to avoid them, just in case Michael is with them. He hasn’t even begun to figure out how he’s going to deal with that particular situation yet.

He’s adjusting to the low lighting of this new room when he spots Liz.  _ Thank god _ . He can tell her he’s going to go and wait in the car, or beg her to come home now. Except she’s already talking to someone. She’s hanging of their arm actually. Valenti.

Panic grips at Alex’s heart. Kyle spots him.

“Hey, Alex!” He grins and waves at him, like they’re best friends. “Look who found me.” He presses himself up against Liz’s side as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. He whispers something to her and begins to lead her from the room.

“Liz!” Alex calls, moving after them. “Wait!”

Liz looks at him exasperatedly, if a little fondly. “Not now, Alex,” she begs him to understand, motioning with her eyes to Kyle. “Come on.”

Alex looks from her, to Kyle, then back to her again. “Wait, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Liz says kindly, even looking somewhat apologetic. “Go and have some  _ fun _ , Alex.”

“Yeah,  _ Alex _ ,” Kyle echoes mockingly, then leads Liz out of the room, his hand moving to her lower back.

Alex resists the urge to be sick. He looks around the room, grabs a shot glass from the nearest teenager wielding alcohol, ignores the cry of  _ hey!  _ and downs the shot. He blanches at the taste but keeps it down.

The protest of  _ hey! _ quickly becomes a chorus of  _ nice!  _ and someone offers him another shot. He takes it.

“Hey, whoa!” Michael says from beside him. Alex tells himself it’s not actually concern in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun,” is his answer. “Letting loose. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”

“You’ve never done anything because you’re  _ supposed  _ to,” Michael replies, looking him over, which stokes a heat in the pit of Alex’s belly. “I like that about you.”

Alex snorts. “Funny,” he says, grabbing another shot. “I think you’re the only one!” He downs the alcohol and passes the glass to Michael before stepping away from him. “See you later.”

Screw Liz. Screw Kyle. Screw Michael Guerin.

And screw this fucking party.


	4. and these girls like these boys, like these boys like these girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm wicked behind on replying to comments so: thank u!!! ur comments give me life and i'm loving the reactions to a) the actual au and b) the trips down memory lane.

**(liz)**

It’s not immediate but several minutes later, Liz starts to feel guilty. She’s been desperate to get talking with Alex for so long, ever since Rosa left and wasn’t there to drag them into deep-and-meaningfuls anymore, and she’s gone and turned him down when he finally reached out.

It’s just that his  _ timing  _ is so bad! She can hardly believe it, except of course it is. The whole universe is conspiring against her getting just one regular date with Kyle. Still, the night is young, and there’s no reason she couldn’t go talk to Alex and then come back and hang out with Kyle.

“Um, Kyle?” she says, trying to pull his attention away from where a few of the jocks are attempting a keg stand. “I think I’m going to go and find Alex. Did you see where he went?”

Kyle finally turns to look at her and smiles sweetly. “No, come on babe. He probably just wants to complain about how much he hates the music or the beer.”

She considers this but her indecisiveness much show on her face because he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be fine. Just talk to him tomorrow. Come on, I’ll get you a drink.” He steers her out of the room and into the next.

He’s gone to get her that drink when Max walks into the room. He spots her from the door and his face splits into a shy smile, grasping at Liz’s heart and pulling it down into her stomach.

“Hey Liz,” he says, walking towards her. He sounds breathless, like he’s been running around.

“Oh, um. Hey Max,” she says, lifting her hand in an awkward wave. “Are you -- enjoying the party?”

“Am I --?” Max looks around. Liz notes with some affection that he’s still wearing his hat backwards, despite the fact that it’s nighttime and he’s in someone’s house. “It’s not really my scene. I’ve been looking for you.”

Liz bites at her lip, the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach growing. “Well, you found me.”

He smiles again, like that simple fact makes him happy. “Yeah. You look really great, you know?”

“Oh, um. Thank you.” She tucks her hair behind her head and looks at the floor. She feels an arm slide around her shoulders and sees the plastic cup being offered to her. She takes it, even though it smells horrible, and looks up to see Kyle has joined them.

“I think we all know that  _ I  _ look really great,” he says, fixing Max with a look that manages to be both joking and dismissive.

Liz allows herself a giggle but it sounds awkward in the ensuing silence. Max is looking from her, to Kyle, to Kyle’s arm around her, and then back to her face. Confusion bleeds into hurt. She clutches her cup tighter.

“C’mon Liz,” Kyle says, when he’s clearly tired of standing there. “I heard someone say something about beer pong.”

His strong arm steers her away again with barely enough time to throw an apologetic look over her shoulder towards Max.

*

After Kyle has won at beer bong for the second time, Liz starts to get desperate, looking around for something  _ anything  _ else to do.

Jenna Cameron walks past her, looking like she might also be looking for a reprieve from the antics of their peers.

"Hey Jenna," Liz greets her with a wave of her cup. "Want to come and hang out here?"

Jenna shakes her head but it's not unkind. "I would, Ortecho, but I'm about to beat some jocks at beer pong."

Liz watches her go and sighs in a manner befitting a teenage girl.

“Hey, do you want to play?” Kyle asks her, obviously noticing that her attention has wavered.

She looks down at her cup which is still mostly full, then at the table full of cups of cheap beer. “No thanks,” she says. "I'll just watch you play. Again."

Kyle makes a face and, to his credit, puts down the ping pong ball he's holding. Unfortunately, he launches into a detailed description of the plays for the football team and Liz nearly blacks out from boredom.

"Which leaves me to run the second half of the field and score that sweet, sweet touchdown," he's saying. "Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Uh huh," Liz says absentmindedly. She thinks about the way Max had listened intently as she talked about feedback inhibition in enzymes, even though she knew he hadn't completely followed the conversation.

Kyle says something else inane and football based. It sounds like he's described the same two plays in a row. Liz isn't an idiot but she's starting to wonder if  _ Kyle  _ is.

"Yeah, definitely," she says, and puts her cup down on a coffee table. "I'm going to go and find -- someone."

“Hey, wait.” Kyle catches her by the elbow. “A couple of as are going to go to Stevenson’s place after. You wanna come?”

Liz looks at the imaginary watch on her wrist and mock-grumbles. “I can’t. Curfew is soon.”

Kyle tilts his head and gives her a charming smile. He’s still very handsome, and the smile is still  _ very  _ charming, but it just doesn’t seem to have the same effect that it did yesterday.

“Sorry,” she says, though she doesn’t really mean it. “I really can’t.”

Kyle scoffs but doesn't seem too bothered.

"Hey, Cameron! You like football, right?"

*

She’s on her third loop of the second floor and she still can’t find Alex. She wants to tell him he was right, at least partly, and she wants to go home. Someone had pointed her up the stairs when she’d asked if they’d seen Alex Ortecho but either they’d been lying, or Alex was on the move.

Liz makes the decision to move on to looking through the first floor. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she can see Kyle animatedly explaining something to Jenna, who’s nodding along while she takes a mouthful of her drink. Liz rolls her eyes and turns in the other direction, only to be faced with the sight of Max Evans sitting on a chair next to the staircase, immersed in a book.

She doesn’t say anything but he looks up anyway, like his gaze can’t help be drawn to her. Her breath catches in her throat. His open, contemplative expression turns into a frown. It makes her want to shrink in on herself but she refuses. Instead, she steps in front of him and smiles brightly.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he replies. He doesn’t smile back. “Did you have fun tonight?” he sound accusatory, and that’s not a tone she’s ever experienced from Max.

“Oh.” She looks around the hallway, glancing over the couples making out and the drunken conversations. “Um. Yep. Tons.”

Max nods curtly. He pockets his book before she can ask what he’s reading and stands up, moving to leave.

“Wait -- Max.” Liz reaches out but stops herself. It doesn’t matter because he pauses mid-step and turns to look at her.

She hesitates, then smiles at him helplessly. “Could you give me a ride home?”

His eyes go wide, then narrow, like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard. She stands her ground, still looking at him. Eventually, he softens, but the expression doesn’t drop from his face.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and gestures towards the front door. “You need to tell Alex you’re going?”

Liz shakes her head as they walk out into the cool night air. “I’ll text him. He’s probably already left.”

*

The ride back to the Crashdown is eerily silent. It’s the longest Max has ever been silent in Liz’s presence and by the time they pull up outside the diner, she’s desperate for him to say something. When he doesn’t, she bites her lip and reaches for the door.

“You never wanted to go to the movies with me, did you?” Max asks, and she turns to see him gripping the steering wheel, staring out the front window.

“No, Max,” she replies quickly. “ _ Of course  _ I wanted to, I just--”

“Didn’t mean it as a date,” he finishes for her. “But you knew that  _ I  _ wanted it to be a date, didn’t you?”

Liz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then releases it, like Alex taught her to. “Yes, I did.”

Max lets out a noise of frustration but he looks more sad than angry. “If you didn’t want to, all you had to do was say so. I still would have helped you find Alex a date. We’re  _ friends _ , Liz. I just want you to be happy. We’ve been friends for -- have you always been this  _ selfish _ ?”

She opens her mouth to reply with an indignant  _ no _ but something stops her. She thinks of Alex’s face as she’d told him  _ later _ , of Max’s face when he’d realised that she was at the party to be with Kyle. She lets out a shuddering breath. “Not always,” she says. “But lately, maybe.”

“God, Liz.” Max drops his hands into his lap and stares at them. “Just because you’re smart and beautiful doesn’t mean you can pick and choose who matters. I  _ really  _ like you, okay? I always have. Even when you’re being selfish or overly-defensive, or when you have to boast about your grade like we don’t already know that you’re smarter than the rest of us. You don’t owe me anything but I thought you’d at least be  _ honest  _ with me--”

Liz takes his face in her hands, turns it towards her, and kisses him.

He makes a startled noise but leans into her.

After a moment, she pulls back, smiling at the look of utter surprise on his face. She doesn’t want to talk about it, not right now, and risk ruining the bubble of happiness she finds herself in. So she presses one more soft, chaste kiss to his mouth and then slips out of the car.

She only looks back once, as she’s closing the door, and sees Max fistpumping in the driver’s seat of his car.

Liz covers her mouth as she laughs and turns to go upstairs.

*

**(michael)**

By the time he finds Alex again, Michael is ready to push any number of his drunk peers out one of the first-story windows. In fact, he’s about to seriously consider doing so when he catches a glance of that dark hair in the next room.

“Scuse me,” he says to the drunk guy who’s just tripped over and plastered himself to Michael’s side. He sets the drunk guy carefully against the wall and then follows the most recent Alex sighting. When he finally passes through the crowd of teenagers blocking the door to the next room, his gaze immediately lands on Alex, who is chugging beer through the side of a can while the group around him cheers him on.

He finished the can and passes it to the person next to him. He’s swaying slightly, Michael notices, which is why he crosses the room to grab a hold of the next drink that someone tries to pass Alex.

“Hey,” he shouts over the noise of the crowd. “Let me have this one, okay?”

Alex frowns at him but his eyes are a little hazy. “No! It’s mine!” He protests, grabbing the shot from Michael and knocking it back without pause. Michael tries to grab him at the shoulder but Alex shrugs him off, moving away and towards the back of the room where, presumably, the drinks are coming from.

“Holy shit dude. How’d you manage it?”

Michael turns his head to see Kyle, grinning like the asshole that he is.

“Manage what?” Michael asks, not even bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.  _ God _ , he could be somewhere else. He could be at the Crashdown eating fries, or lying out in the bed of his truck, listening to good music and looking up at the stars. He could not be looking at Valenti’s smug mug right now.

“How’d you get him to pull the pole out of his ass?” Kyle asks, and gestures in the direction that Alex had disappeared.

Michael scowls at him but turns when a chorus of cheers erupts from that direction. “What the fu-”

To his horror, Alex has managed to climb up on one of sturdier coffee tables, shot in hand. He drinks the shot and then starts to move to the music, all swinging hips and gyrating pelvis. He raises his arms above his head and sways his entire body to the beat like a flame licking at the end of a wick. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing a thing patch of tan skin, and Michael’s mouth goes dry.

Kyle is watching with unreserved delight, and looks to be pulling out his phone.

“Shit,” Michael mutters, pushing through the crowd to the other side of the room. He pushes some guy with a snapback out of the way and reaches over the table to grab Alex’s knee. “Ortecho, c’mon. Ortecho.  _ Alex _ .”

Alex looks straight down at him and their eyes lock. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. Michael’s pulse speeds up. Then, Alex trips towards him. Michael holds out his arms and catches him, not surprised by how light Alex is, and sets him on the ground gently. His legs wobble and he begins falling to the ground, so Michael wraps an arm around his waist and hauls him back up, holding Alex against his side.

“I’m fine,” Alex protests.

“I can see that,” Michael agrees kindly. He takes Alex’s weight and starts to walk them to the back door. “Maybe  _ I  _ need the fresh air.”

“Fresh air is good,” Alex nods, his head drooping a little against Michael’s shoulder. “Sleep is good too.”

“No sleep,” Michael says, reaching over to pat Alex’s cheek. “I gotta make sure you don’t have a concussion first.”

“When did I get a concussion?” Alex asks, as Michael opens the back door and leads them out into the Harding’s back yard. There’s a few chairs scattered across the back porch and Michael drops Alex into one gently before taking a seat in the chair beside him.

“I lost you for a while there,” Michael says, reaching over to turn Alex’s face towards him, checking his pupil reactions. “Anything could have happened.”

Alex closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not a kid. Fuck, don’t be so condescending.”

Michael grins. “How are you  _ this  _ smashed and still using words like condescending?” He presses his thumbs into Alex’s cheeks to manipulate his head, looking for any sign that anything’s happened while he’s been this drunk.

“No way, cowboy,” Alex snaps, reaching up to slap Michael’s hands away. “m not that drunk.”

“As if I’d kiss you right now,” Michael responds. “You smell like a cheap brewery. Your virtue’s safe, man.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I told you,” he replies, keeping the exasperation low-key. “I’m checking to make sure you’re just drunk out of your mind, not injured or something.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” is Alex’s next bizarre thought. “Why’d you care if I have con-- if I’ve got a -- if I’m injured?”

Michael finishes his survey of Alex’s condition without touching him, then leans back a little. “Well, if you were damaged irreparably, I’d have to find someone else willing to knock me down a peg while I try to woo them.”

Alex snorts at the word “woo”. “Yeah, and you need it. I’d better stay alive then.”

“Yeah, you’d better.” Michael leans back in the chair, running a hand through his curls. “So why tonight?”

“Hm?” Alex’s confusion is soft and fuzzy.

“Why’d you let Valenti get to you tonight? I’ve never seen you react to him like that before.”

Alex’s expression turns into a scowl. “Ugh. I hate him so much. He’s such a dick.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Michael agrees. “But I think your choice of revenge could have been better.”

Alex groans softly in protest, which is when Michael realises he’s fallen asleep. He shoves out of his own chair to kneel next to Alex. He grips one of Alex’s knees and reaches up to slap at his face, a little more forcefully than last time.

“Whoa, hey. Ortecho. Wake up!”

Alex’s dark eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes, that fuzzy and confused look still on his face. He looks down at Michael, still pressed slightly into the space between Alex’s legs, and swallows thickly,

“Did you know your --” he licks his lips and Michael can’t help but follow the movement. “Your eyes look like honey.”

Michael exhales a careful breath, hand gripping Alex’s knee a little tighter. Then he watches as Alex turns to the side and proceeds to puke down the side of the chair.

*

**** It’s easy enough to get Alex back to his truck and into the passenger seat. The fresh air and the chance to puke seems to have sobered him up a little, at least to the point where he can walk without stumbling and doesn’t look as confused about everything.

Michael drives the truck back to the Crashdown, parking in the car park but close enough that it’s only a few steps to the door. He stops the car and lets the music keep playing; the radio has just finished playing a Panic! at the Disco song, which Michael doesn’t hate. He says as much.

Alex blinks at him in surprise, then looks wistfully at the radio.

“I want to do that,” he says, which is actually the first thing he’s said since they got in the car, besides one snide comment about Michael’s driving.

“Make music?” Michael asks, to clarify. He knows Alex plays; Isobel and Max had mentioned music posters, a wall of CDs, and at least one guitar.

Alex throws him a look. “No, be a radio host.  _ Of course  _ make music. I’d have to get out of this town to do that though, which my dad is  _ super  _ keen on.”

Michael picks up on the sarcasm. It’s hard not to when every second thing Alex says is laced with it. “I could see that,” he says, nodding along to the next tune. “You; the frontman of a rock band. Your dad would come around.”

“Ha!” Alex scrunches up his nose. “One drunken conversation and you think you know me?”

“No,” Michael says, refusing to match his tone. “But I’d like to.”

All the sarcasm seems to leave Alex in a large  _ whoosh _ . His shoulder drops and he looks down at his lap, fiddling with one of the black rings that adorn his fingers.

“Not sure  _ why _ ,” he mutters. “Everyone knows I’m mean and scary.”

“Plenty of people are scared of me too,” Michael tells him. “Maybe our ‘scary’ cancel out each other.” He turns to look at Alex, who is staring back at him with wide eyes. Michael can’t read the emotion behind the expression, so he clears his throat and soldiers on. “Why doesn’t your dad want you to go?” He gestures at the Crashdown with a tilt of his head. “He seems like an alright guy.”

Alex shrugs one shoulder. “He just worries.”

“About?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe he’s saying any of this. “He worries me and Liz will turn out like Rosa. Our sister.”

Michael nods. He knows the stories about Rosa. “I don’t think she was so bad,” he says. “But even if she was; you can’t judge people based on what their family does. Can you imagine if my rep was based on Maxwell?” He laughs at the thought. “Tolstoy and snapbacks. Not really my scene.”

When he turns to see if that’s made Alex smile, he’s almost disappointed to find that it didn’t, except that this time, Alex is staring at him with a heavy, considering look.

“You’re not as horrible as I thought you were.”

They lock gazes and Michael feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

Alex leans in across the car, and Michael panics.

It’s not a bi-based panic. It’s not even an Alex-based panic. It’s a “fuck I really want to kiss this guy”  _ but  _ “he’s super drunk”  _ and  _ “this is not how I want this to go down”-based panic.

Michael turns his head at the last minute and looks intently at the steering wheel. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this now.”

There’s a few beats of silence where he’s too afraid to look up and see the expression on Alex’s face. When he finally does, it’s too late, because Alex has opened the passenger door and is slipping out of the car.

Michael opens his mouth to say something but is met with the slam of the door. He watches Alex stalk into the Crashdown and slam those doors as well.

When the light of the diner turns off, Michael drops his forehead to the steering wheel and groans.

“Fuck.”


	5. i can't get enough of you baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guys, i debated about the song that had to replace "can't take my eyes off of you" for soooo long.
> 
> that's all; enjoy!

**(maria)**

Even if Alex hadn’t texted her on Saturday afternoon to inform her of all his bad life choices, she would have absolutely been able to tell by the way he looks when he skulks into English on Monday morning.

Someone whistles from the back of the classroom. Someone else calls out, “Dance for me, Ortecho!”

Alex flips them off and drops into his seat next to Maria.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” she says, reaching across the gap between their desks to press two fingers to his hairline. “How many shots did you drink?”

“I lost count,” Alex tells her miserably. He lays his head on the desk and Maria runs her fingers through his hair.

“Poor baby,” she says, not unkindly. “That’s what you get for going to a highschool party.”

“Liz wanted to go,” Alex mumbles, and Maria smiles. 

“That was very kind of you,” she assures him. “Stupid. But kind.”

“Heeeey, Ortecho!” Comes Kyle Valenti’s grating voice as he enters the classroom. Maria and Alex turn to glare at him at the same time with equal intensity.

“How’d  _ your  _ night end?” Kyle asks, then raises his hands and gyrates his hips. “Give anyone else an eyeful?”

Maria turns to look at Alex with raised eyebrows, but her friend is already scowling and opening his mouth to respond.

“My night ended all the better knowing  _ yours  _ didn’t end with my sister,” he snipes. Kyle actually looks wounded for a second, and Maria’s surprised to find that it’s a genuine emotion. Unexpected from the bro jock.

“Take your goddamn seats,” Mr Green commands them as he walks into the classroom and makes his way to the front. Everyone sits. Alex drops his head back to the desk. “Open your books to page 13; sonnet 141.” There’s the sounds of scrambling as everyone hurries to do so. Mr Green clears his throat and begins to recite:

“In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,

For they in thee a thousand errors note; 

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,

Who in despite of view is pleased to dote; 

Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,

Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 

Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited 

To any sensual feast with thee alone: 

But my five wits nor my five senses can 

Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,

Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 

Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be: 

Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 

That she that makes me sin awards me pain.”

There’s enough passion in his voice, enough attention given to each line, that by the end of the recital, most of the teenagers are at least giving him the respect of half of their attention. Which is why it’s so funny to Maria when Mr Green immediately returns to his usual self.

“Who can tell me what the hell this guy’s talking about?” he asks the classroom.

After a beat of silence, he points to one of the jocks. “You. Yeah, with the bowl cut. What do you think this idiot’s trying to say?”

The jock looks to his friends for support, then shrugs when he finds none. “He’s in love with some chick.”

Alex lets out a huff of amusement. Maria echoes it with a smile.

“Congratulations,” Mr Green says. “For giving us the most basic of interpretations.” He turns back to the rest of the class in exasperation. “ _ Yes _ . He’s in love with some chick. Dig deeper, people! What is he saying about his love?”

Another few beats of silence.

“He’s confused,” Alex offers, without lifting his head from the table.

Mr Green cups a hand over his ear and leans forward. “What was that, Ortecho?”

Alex grumbles and raises his head just a little so that he can repeat: “He’s confused about why he loves her.”

“Thank you for joining us, Mr Ortecho!” Mr Green crows sarcastically. “He is indeed confused. Somebody tell me more! Miss DeLuca; you’re looking might amused over there.”

Maria stifles her chuckle and meets Mr Green’s gaze head on. “He’s trying to figure out why he loves her. She’s not beautiful, she’s not really making him happy. But he loves her all the same.”

“Very good, Miss DeLuca,” Me Green says, though a little less sarcastic this time. "You will be writing your own version of this sonnet. Conflicted feelings, complicated emotions. I want it all, people!”

The entire English class groans in displeasure, except for Alex. He nods consideringly at their teacher.

"Okay, out with it, Ortecho," Mr Green snaps.

"Huh?" Alex raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Did you want this in iambic pentameter?" Maria can tell that he’s basking in the glory that is Mr Green’'s confused expression, even hungover.

"You don't want to fight me on this?" he queries. "No complaints, concerns, suggestions?"

Alex shakes his head, purses his lips. "No. It sounds like a great assignment." Not to mention, Maria knows he can write iambic pentameter in his sleep. He’ll say that it's all words and rhythms after all; like writing music.

Mr Green scowls at him. "I'll send you to the head office. Don't even test me."

That earns him a scowl from Alex and Maria stifles a laugh.

“I didn’t do anything!” Alex protests.

Mr Green points a warning finger at him. “Shut it. “

Alex closes his mouth and glares over at Maria, who just shrugs her shoulders and goes back to doodling in her notebook.

*

She’s pulling books from her locker at the end of lunch when Isobel Evans appears next to her. Maria waits as the blonde looks over the posters that she has taped up, gaze falling on the astrological chart for the month.

“You’re into that star stuff?” Isobel asks, eyebrow raised with incredulity.

Maria purses her lips and takes a deep breath, the way Alex does when he's dealing with people he would prefer to go away. Which is pretty much everyone.

"It's not  _ star stuff _ ," she replies. “It’s  the study of the movements and relative positions of celestial bodies, and the use of those things to find meaning in our lives.”

Isobel cocks her hip against the lockers, crosses her arms, and grins. “Star stuff.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m a Libra,” Isobel offers. “Tell me my future.”

Maria shuts her locker carefully, however much she may want to slam it. “That’s not how it works,” she says, slipping her books into her shoulder bag. “A reading is personal, and it’s not about telling the future. It’s about interpreting the present and finding  _ options  _ for the future.” She looks Isobel up and down. “Besides; that’s a lie. You’re a Scorpio.”

She waits long enough to see Isobel’s eyes widen and her expression morph into one of surprise before she turns and walks down the hall.

“DeLuca! Wait!” She hears Isobel’s voice call and because she’s not an asshole, she slows her walk enough that the other girl can catch up.

After looking around the hall, presumably to see if anyone was watching her interact with Maria, Isobel shrugged one shoulder. “How’d you know that?”

Maria sighs. “Intense, great personal magnetism, the power to coerce and manipulate people?” she looks at Isobel pointedly. “Secretive, prideful. And anyway, you and Max always have a birthday party at the start of November.”

“ _ That’s  _ cheating!” Isobel declares with a grin. “Go on then; what are you?”

“Not that it’s  _ any  _ of your business,” Maria says cooly. “But I’m a Pisces.”

Isobel nods thoughtfully as they walk. “Do we get along? Scorpios and --”

“Pisces,” Maria supplies again, patiently. She refuses to look sideways at Isobel as she answers: “Look it up yourself and find out.”

“I will,” she promises, and Maria refuses to blush at the tone of her voice. This is  _ Isobel Evans _ , for christ’s sake. “Listen, I need your help with something.”

That stops Maria in her tracks. She tilts her head to look up at Isobel in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Isobel puts a hand on her hip and scowls. “You heard me. I’m not saying it again.”

Maria inhales slowly, thinking of how this will surely add to her karmic points. “What do you need?”

The words make Isobel smirk. “Well,” she says, leaning in a little closer than necessary. “You see, my brother likes your friend…”

And so, Maria spends the next fifteen minutes trying very hard to focus on the situation that involves Alex, instead of the smell of Isobel Evan’s shampoo.

*

**(michael)**

Michael doesn’t seek Alex out on Monday.

It’s not that he’s waiting for advice from Isobel (he is) or that he’s worried about Alex’s reaction (he absolutely is); it’s just that he’s -- busy. He’s giving Alex time to cool off. He’s trying to figure out if he has to apologise at all.

Michael finds him in the library, browsing through books in the music theory section, and decides to take his chance.

“Hey,” he says, in way of greeting.

Alex’s entire demeanour changes to one of disgust. “Jesus, Guerin,” he says. “Are you still stalking me?”

Michael leans forward and fake-whispers: “This is the library. I’m a student here too. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get a copy of the Taming _ of the Shrew _ , would you?”

Alex narrows his eyes and then stalks off towards another shelf. Michael takes that as his cue to follow.

“You’re so --”

“Witty?” Michael suggests. “Attractive? Delightful?”

“Unpalatable,” Alex says, stopping in front of a shelf, which he begins to scan.

“You’re really not as nasty as you think you are.” Michael grins, unphased as he watches that adorable scowl and concentration.

Alex turns to look at him long enough to say: “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

Michael whistles under his breath in response. “Guess I’m still on the Alex Ortecho shit list huh?”

“Guerin,” Alex sighs dramatically. “You’d have to be on my radar to get on my shit list.”

His eyebrows go up in surprise. “I felt pretty firmly on your radar on Friday night.”

Alex pulls a book off the shelf and turns fully to face him. “Most of my Friday night was spent barfing, or trying not to barf. So, those are the only two emotions I associate you with.” He smacks a copy of  _ The Taming of the Shrew  _ into Michael’s chest and walks off.

Michael watches him go, feeling a little uneasy, but mostly surprised at the way his heart has suddenly sped up and the fluttering of his stomach.

*

At lunch, he drops his head onto the table.

“He’s  _ definitely  _ pissed,” he says.

“I spoke to DeLuca,” Isobel reveals. “I believe her words were:  _ hates him with the fire of a thousand suns _ . She’s very descriptive.”

Michael decides to let that go, despite the fact that he was sure he hadn’t ever heard Isobel say something nice about Maria in all the years that they’d been at school together.

“That’s super helpful, Iz,” he says instead. “Thank you.”

Isobel sighs and crosses her arms, leaning over the table. “You embarrassed him, Michael. He put himself out there and you were a jackass.”

“I didn’t want to kiss him while he was drunk!” Michael protests. He still thinks he should get a little credit for that. Consent and all.

“It doesn’t matter.” Isobel waves a hand in dismissal. “You’ve screwed up and now you need to fix it. You have to make it up to him.”

Michael groans. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Sweet love, renew thy force!”

He raises his head slowly to stare at Max. “What the  _ hell  _ is that supposed to mean?”

Max goes red in the cheeks. “It’s from -- it’s in a sonnet,” he explains. “It means, you know, it means you have to--”

“It means you need to even the playing field,” Isobel finished for him, stealing something from his lunch. It turns out to be a carrot, which she points in Michael’s direction. “You need to swallow your pride. Sacrifice your dignity.”

When Michael just blinks at her, she sighs and tosses her hair.

“You need to do something embarrassing and make it clear that you’re doing it  _ for _ him.”

It sounds like a lot of effort. It sounds like a lot of  _ work  _ when he could be working out at Sanders’ to save money, or finishing up stuff for the advanced classes that are going to get him a full scholarship to UNM. But -- he thinks of the way Alex had looked at him in the library, the kind of expression he used on Valenti and his buddies, and the unease in his stomach grows. He  _ wants _ to fix it. More than that, he  _ wants _ .

Isobel must sense his indecision because she pushes a bowl of chips towards him and raises an eyebrow. “Remember that you’re doing this for our dear brother.”

Michael’s gaze flicks back to Max as he pops one of the chips in his mouth. “That’s going okay, then?”

Max shrugs and his cheeks stay red. “She kissed me.”

The next chip stops halfway to Michael’s mouth as he makes an expression of mock-surprise. Isobel snorts with laughter and Michael drops his chip so that he can reach over and shove at Max’s shoulder.

“You sly dog!” he says, and they all laugh together.

*

Valenti catches him in the crowded hallway this time, instead of the lockers. Michael laments the chance to tease him about it. That is, until Kyle hands him two crisp $100 bills in the worst attempt at sleight of hand Michael’s ever witnessed.

“That should cover everything,” Kyle says, stuffing his hands into his jacket once Michael’s reluctantly taken the money. “Limo, flowers, whatever. At least get yourself a tux, Guerin, _jesus_.” He looks over Michael’s ripped jeans and hoodie in disapproval. “Just make sure he turns up to prom.”

Michael looks down at the bills in his hand and then back up at Kyle, shaking his head. “No. You know what? I’m done with this.” He shoves the bills back in Kyle’s direction. 

Kyle rolls his eyes and pulls another $100 bill out of his jacket, adding it to the others in Michael’s hand. “If you wanted more, Guerin, all you had to do was ask.”

Michael scowls. “I mean it. Find someone else to play your little game.”

“You mean  _ our  _ little game?” Kyle asks, leaning in a little closer. “At least, that’s how Alex will see it.”

He goes pale at the implication. Honestly, it would be a competition to see whose ass Alex would kick more between him and Kyle but in the end, it would mean Alex never speaking to him again. Kyle might not care about that, but Michael is beginning to realise that _he_ really does.

He folds the bills into his back pocket and fixes Kyle with a glare. Kyle just grins in response before disappearing into the crowd of their peers.

*

Isobel laughs at his plan, clutching her sides and cackling until it looks painful.

Max shrugs and holds his arms out helplessly. “It’s not exactly  _ romantic _ …” he says. “But it’ll definitely be embarrassing.”

“Your support and votes of confidence are noted,” Michael tells them with a grumble.

*

He doesn’t actually get to act out his plan until a few days later. After paying off one of the kids from the marching band, there’s still schedules and other plans that he has to see through. Not to mention the fact that he’s got to make it to every class he has in the interim, since he’s 100% sure he’s going to get detention as a result of his plan.

Come Thursday afternoon, everything’s ready. Michael heads to the building next to the field that houses all the sound equipment for the games. He takes the microphone off its stand and adjusts the dials on the soundboard so that his voice will ring clear across the entire field.

He looks out the window that surveys the field and sees that the hockey team is definitely present and in the middle of training. The marching band are sitting casually on the edge of the field, like they’re watching the team practice and are waiting for their turn on the field.

Good.

Michael takes a deep breath and taps twice on the microphone. It’s working, which means it’s go time.

“ _ I can’t get enough of you baby _ .” His voice wobbles at first. He probably should have warmed up.

“ _ I can’t get enough of you baby, yes it’s true.  _ _ Baby yes it's true. _ ”

He makes himself step out of the building and onto the top of the bleachers. No one immediately notices him, he can tell that no heads have turned to look at him, but that’s going to change pretty quickly.

“ _ Whenever we kiss I get a feeling like this, I get to wishin' that there was two of you. _ ”

Michael slides across the bleachers, which is when the faces on the field start to look around to find the source of the singing; a few of them settle on him. He takes a breath and keeps moving, keeps singing.

“ _ My heart cries out more baby. It feels so nice I want your arms to wrap around me twice.” _

He pauses jump down onto the next level of bleachers, which is when the marching band stands up and begins to play the accompanying music. It’s bizarre to hear the Smash Mouth song being played on trumpets and tubas and stuff but Michael has to admit; they sound pretty good.

He swaps the microphone from one hand to the other and grins.

“ _ I can't get enough of you baby, I can't get enough of you baby. Right or wrong. Baby, right or wrong. _ ” He has the field’s attention again and he can see where Alex is shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, looking directly up at him. Michael twirls on the spot and then points a finger towards Alex.

“ _ When you had to go I hated the thought, I always wish the night was twice as long. My heart cries out more baby _ ,” he presses a hand to his heart, only looking away from Alex to jump another level of the bleachers. “ _ I love you so much, I wish that there was more of you to touch _ .”

The band dies down to a quiet murmur of music, and Michael kneels down on one of the seats, reaching out towards Alex again, who’s looking amused, if the wide grin on his face is anything to go by. “ _ I can't get enough of you baby _ ,” Michael sings softly. “ _ Can't get enough of you baby, I can't get enough of you baby _ .”

At the same time as the band rises to full volume again, Michael jumps up and punches the air, letting out an enthusiastic “yeah!” He’s feeling good about this, and Alex is smiling, so of course that’s when two of the gym teachers appear, running up the stairs of the bleachers and towards Michael.

Never one to half-ass things, Michael scales two levels of bleachers and starts to jog in the other direction, still singing the song.

“ _Whenever we kiss I get a feeling like this I get to wishing that there was two of you._ ” One of the teachers tries to head him off by running parallel to him, one level below. “ _My heart cries out more baby. I love you so much, I wish that there was more of you to touch_.” He fakes a jump and turns, running back in the other direction while they’re still adjusting to the move. He makes a show of it too; running with exaggerated arm movements while the marching band helpfully play a musical interlude.

“ _ I can’t get enough of you baby _ ,” he sings again, although he’s a little winded now. It doesn’t matter. It’s all worth it for the way he can see Alex laughing, his eyes trailing Michael as he runs across the bleachers. “ _ Just can’t get enough of you baby _ .”

The game can’t last forever though, so he leaps back to the top of the stands as the band continues to play. He makes a ridiculous pose at the top, bent over in an exaggerated bow with one arm high in the air.

“Thank you!” He declares, giving the signal for the marching band to play themselves out. The two gym teachers catch up to him, red-faced and puffing. They start to usher him back towards the school building but Michael gets one last look over his shoulder at Alex, his smile more subdued now, like he’s pleased and can’t quite hide it.

Oh yeah, definitely worth the detention.


	6. so brown eyes i'll hold you near, 'cause you're the only song i want to hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof, this chapter took a while cause i wanted it to be perfect! hope you enjoy c:
> 
> y'all!! chasing made an amazing [gifset over at tumblr](https://chasingshhadows.tumblr.com/post/187019477151/for-queersirius-3-for-goodvibesinroswell-s) for this fic. please go and give it some love cause it's wonderful!!

**(alex)**

Alex takes a deep breath as he stands outside the classroom. He’d hacked into the school administration to check the detention schedule before he made his way here, and was equal parts relieved and nervous to see his music teacher’s name at the top of today’s list. She’ll probably be easy to convince because she’s one of the only teachers in the school he hasn’t pissed off to the point of spite, but if this backfires, he’s not entirely sure what that’s going to mean for music class.

He knocks on the door to announce his presence but doesn’t wait before walking in. He does a quick scan of the room to make sure and his eyes are immediately drawn to the mass of curls in the second to last row. Even if he hadn’t been thinking about them all week, they had always been hard to miss. Michael’s head lifted, curls bouncing with the movement, and those honey-gold eyes met Alex’s own.

Alex tears his gaze away and crosses the room to stand next to the teacher’s desk. Mrs Topolsky is a firm looking woman with blonde hair, pulled back into a plait, and small black glasses on the end of her nose.

“Uh, hi Mrs Topolsky,” he greets her with a smile. She narrows her eyes in suspicion, making him realise he probably should have started with a scowl.

“What can I do for you, Mr Ortecho?” she asks,

“I had - uh - some concerns... about the final project. For class?”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she tells him, looking down at what Alex presumes are some papers that she’s marking. “But I’m sure this can wait until class.”

While her head is down, Alex turns to Michael and mouths at him: _The window!_ When Michael just shrugs at him in confusion, Alex gestures to the window on the other side of the classroom and tries again: _WINDOW!_

Mrs Topolsky raises her head to look at Alex again, her expression unimpressed.

“Ha - yeah,” Alex falters for a second, then steels himself. “Actually, I was thinking about how we always score lower than the other highschools, y’know, musically…”

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Michael slips out of his seat and ducks behind another student, slowly making his way to the side of the classroom.

As Mrs Topolsky turns her head to survey the classroom, Alex leans forward and plants his hands on the desk, effectively blocking her view with his torso.

“Are those new glasses, by the way?” he starts to babble, clinging to the first thing he can think of. “They look really good; totally fit the shape of your face. They kind of give you that sexy librarian look but, uh --” there’s a snicker from the back row. “That’s not really my point.”

“I’m starting to wonder if you _have_ a point, Mr Ortecho,” she says, unphased. There’s a creak from the other side of the classroom, which Alex can only assume is Michael failing to make a stealthy escape. As she turns her head to look, Alex smacks his hand enthusiastically on the desk, drawing her attention back.

“My point, Mrs Topolsky,” he says. “Is that they score higher than us on their final performances every year. I think it’s time we fought back and I have a plan.”

“A plan?” she asks dubiously.

“Inspired by you, actually,” Alex says, gesturing wildly to keep her eyes on him, instead of looking over to Michael, who has one foot out the window.

“By me?”

“Yes!” Alex nods emphatically. “To uh -- to dazzle them. With something outside the box.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying,” Mrs Topolsky says.

Alex reaches across the desk to grab her hand. “I have a plan that will totally wow the audience. They won’t be able to look away, and bam! That’s when I get them with the music.”

Mrs Topolsky sighs in exasperation. “And how are you going to do that?” she asks, and another clatter draws her attention towards the window that Michael is now halfway through.

“Um. Uh,” Alex panics, and reaches for the bottom of his shirt. “Like this!” He lifts his shirt up to reveal his bare chest. Mrs Ropolsky’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, the narrow to pinpricks. Between watching Michael slide his other long, gangly leg through the window, and the cheers that erupt from the rest of the students in detention, Alex barely registers the reaction.

“Uh, you know. Like a rockstar,” he supplies, to her unimpressed glare. “Um, and that’s -- my plan. To score really well. On the final project.” He pulls his shirt back down and flattens it out with his palms. “So I’m going to go and do that. Practice the plan. Thank you for your time.”

The classroom breaks into applause as he walks to the door. One of the students actually reaches out to slap Alex on the back in congratulations. He pauses to turn around and smack them across the top of the head, then hurries out of the room.

*

He meets Michael out by his truck. Michael’s leaning with his hip pressed against the door, and he grins when he sees Alex approaching.

“You wanna go for a ride?” he asks, cocking his head in the direction of the truck.

Alex rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger side. “I’m only coming to keep an eye on you. If you’ll skip out on detention, who knows what else you’ll get up to.”

“Oh yeah,” Michael drawls as he starts the truck. “And I can’t thank you enough for saving me from the torture of detention. My hero.”

Alex shrugs but he’s looking out the window with a smile on his face.

“It was a cool move, man,” Michael assures him. Then, “Does this mean I’m off the Alex Ortecho shit list?”

Alex turns to him with a coy grin. “I’m not sure yet,” he says. “It depends.”

Michael doesn’t ask _on what?_ but Alex can see that he wants to. He licks his bottom lip. Alex has to turn to look out the window again, the feeling of inevitability about this afternoon setting into the pit of his stomach and warming him from the inside out.

“So, what’s your reason?” Michael asks, cutting through the weighted silence.

Alex turns to look at him, confused. “My reason for what?”

“For the way we act out,” Michael clarifies. “For being mean and scary.”

Alex pulls a face. “What’s _yours_?”

It’s Michael’s turn to shrug. Alex watches the way his shoulders lift in the size-too-small black shirt.

“Oh, you know. I just always wanted to be a bad boy. It was my dream growing up.”

Alex scoffs, but there’s something about Michael that makes him think Michael won’t find his answer stupid.

“I guess…” he starts, fiddling with one of his black leather bracelets. “I just never want to do what people expect of me, you know? I set my own expectations for myself.”

Michael makes a contemplative noise. “So, you scare people off from the get go, so you can’t disappoint them later. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Alex allows. It should piss him off that Michael’s cut right through to the heart of the matter, but it doesn’t.

“Well, you fucked up.”

Alex narrows his eyes. Maybe he’s spoken too soon. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t scare me off,” Michael says, voice gone soft. “Didn’t disappoint me.” He turns to look at Alex and his expression matches the gentleness of his tone.

They hold each other’s gaze for a beat. Then they break away with echoing laughs.

“Eyes on the road, Guerin,” Alex says.

“Yessir.” Michael turns back to the road.

Alex keeps watching his smile for a moment before he turns back to the road as well.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he asks: “Where are you taking me?”

Michael stops the truck at a red light and gestures to a building down the road.

“What do you say?”

Alex blinks at the roller skating rink, then pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m -- a little rusty. You might have to keep me from falling.”

Michael’s answering grin makes his stomach flutter. “I think I can do that.”

*

Half an hour later, Michael groans as he catches up to Alex, coming to a shaky stop beside him.

“You are a _liar_ ,” he says, leaning over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Rusty my _ass_.”

Alex throws his head back in laughter, bright and carefree. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think my two years of derby was relevant.”

“Male derby,” Michael mutters darkly. “I didn’t even know that was a _thing_. Of _course_ you played derby.”

Alex just grins and spins in a circle on the spot. “I only played casually.”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t do anything casually.” Michael huffs as he pulls himself back into a standing position. He catches Alex’s gaze as he pushes forward on the skates, and Alex lets himself glide backwards, matching Michael’s movements. He keeps going until his back hits the edge of the rink, which is when he expects Michael to come to a stop next to him.

He doesn’t.

Michael crowds him up against the edge of the rink, one hand pressed against the wall either side of him, pinning him there. Alex is surprised to find that he doesn't even mind.

He doesn't have long to think about it though because the second Michael's steadied himself, he leans in and presses their mouths together. Alex's eyes flutter closed and he reaches up to place his hands on Michael's neck, just holding him there as their closed lips press and shift minutely. It’s a chaste kiss but when Michael pulls back, Alex feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“This okay?” Michael murmurs, the breath of the words ghosting over Alex’s lips.

“Uh huh.” Alex nods stupidly and this time, when Michael leans into him, he’s ready. He moves forward to meet him, their noses brushing as he changes the angle and slides his parted lips over Michael’s own. That seems to spur something in Michael, who rolls forward to close the distance between them, pressing their bodies together as he opens his mouth and slips his tongue into Alex’s mouth.

Holy hell, Michael Guerin _can kiss_. It’s the only thing that Alex can think as his hands scramble for purchase in Michael’s golden halo of curls. It would be so easy to get kiss drunk and lose himself in the feeling of Michael’s tongue curling against his, but Alex has always been stubborn.

He uses his hold on Michael’s head to push him backwards, spinning them around until Michael’s the one with his back pressed against the outer wall of the rink. He looks dazed when Alex pulls back, eyes half-lidded and breath coming in pants. Alex can’t help but lean in to press another kiss to his mouth, which turns into a series of kisses. Finally, he makes himself pull back and whisper against Michael’s lips: “Last one around the rink pays for the food.” Then he drops his hands from Michael’s hair, presses his weight down into the skates, and shoves off into a sprint around the rink.

Michael’s indignant spluttering only spurs him on and although he does hear the tell-tale sounds of Michael trying to catch up to him, he’s laughing when he hits the exit gate of the rink, flushed from the exercise and something else. A giddy kind of happiness he hasn’t let himself feel in a long while.

“You cheated,” Michael accuses him, even if he’s grinning just as widely as Alex is.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Alex retorts. He grabs Michael by the front of his hoodie and pulls him in for another kiss, effectively cutting off any further protests.

*

**(michael)**

They drive to the Crashdown and they’re still laughing when they walk through the front doors. It’s relatively quiet, somewhere between the afterschool rush and dinner, and Michael can’t stop touching Alex. He keeps a hand at the small of his back as they walk in, presses their shoulders together as they head to the counter, reaches out to trail his fingers down Alex’s forearm when he slips into the kitchen to get them some food.

When he comes back, meals and milkshakes in hand, Michael takes the offered food and moves towards one of the empty booths. Alex shakes his head and gestures to the stairs behind the kitchen instead.

With his heart in his throat ( _be cool, Guerin, be cool_ ), Michael follows Alex up the stairs and into his room. It’s exactly as Max had described it; posters covering every square inch, instruments lined up against one of the walls, a desk covered in all sorts of paper and stationary.

He hovers awkwardly by the door, holding his milkshake and his bag of food, until Alex laughs and gestures to the free space on the floor next to him. Michael drops down onto the floorboards gratefully and takes a sip of his shake. They chat idly as they eat, and Michael’s nearly buzzing out of his skin with the desire to reach over and touch Alex, even just to hold his hand or press his fingertips to Alex’s knee. They’re nearly finished their meals when they manage to get onto the subject of their reputations at school.

“Okay,” Alex says, popping a fry in his mouth as he thinks. “The fire in the chemistry lab?”

Michael shakes his head and grins. “Myth. Broken arm in the locker room?”

“Hearsay,” Alex waves a hand dismissively. “Living in your truck?”

“True, until Max and Isobel convinced the Evans’ to take me in.” He still catches Ann Evans looking at him sometimes with a deep kind of guilt that didn’t lessen when he started staying in the guest room. He doesn’t blame them, not anymore. “At least until I can fuck off to UNM. Hank Gibbon’s knee?”

“Fact.” Alex rolls his eyes. “But he deserved it. He called me a fag and then tried to grope my sister.”

“Gross,” Michael agrees.

Alex ducks his head and inspects his nails very carefully. “You and Isobel Evans?”

Michael blinks at him in confusion for a second before he realises Alex is talking about him and Isobel _dating_. He tips his head back and laughs. “Yeah, no way. Iz is my sister. Besides, blondes aren’t really my type.”

“Oh?” Alex asks around his straw, one eyebrow raised. “What _is_ your type?” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Michael tracks the movement.

He rocks forward onto his knees and plucks the milkshake from Alex’s grasp, placing it safely to the side, and then leans over to press his lips to Alex’s cheek. “Hmm,” he says, like he’s thinking about it. “Brunettes, for sure.”

Alex hums questioningly, which Michael takes as a sign to continue.

He presses a kiss to the other cheek, letting his lips linger and drag down towards Alex’s jaw this time. “Sarcastic as all hell.”

Alex hums again, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes close.

Michael drags his lips towards Alex’s mouth but dips at the last minute, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “And totally into me, of course.”

Alex laughs and pushes at his shoulders until he’s looking at Alex’s face again. It’s not a hardship.

“Tell me something true,” Alex says, reaching up to push a stray curl from Michael’s forehead.

Michael frowns, more out of confusion than anything else. “Something true? Uh -- I hate onion rings.”

Alex smacks his shoulder playfully. “No, asshole. Something real. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

Michael rocks back until he’s sitting on his heels and he can look over Alex’s face. There’s only open curiosity there; he doesn’t look like he’s planning to take whatever information he’s given and use it to press an advantage.

Which is why Michael reaches up and puts a hand to Alex’s shoulder, then lets it drop until he’s pressing fingertips into the space above his heart. “I’ve uh -- I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you.” His throat feels raw as he says the words, and his heart’s beating faster than it was when he’d leaned forward at the skating rink to kiss Alex.

Alex blinks at him for a moment, like he’s processing the information. Michael struggles to stay still as he watches. Then, slowly, Alex leans in towards him, and Michael waits with bated breath for the inevitable kiss. Then, Alex pulls back, just as slow. Michael chases the feeling of his warm breath and Alex smiles. He reaches up and presses fingers with black-painted fingernails to Michael’s neck, draws him forward, and Michael sighs into the kiss.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, and Alex is reclining towards the floor, pulling Michael down with him. Alex’s legs drop open, making a space for Michael almost immediately, and Michael presses his whole body down into the offer. Alex’s hands are in his hair, fingertips digging into his scalp and controlling the angle, despite the fact that Michael is on top of him. Michael can’t keep his hands to one place; cupping Alex’s face gently, trailing down to grip at his hips, pressing down into the floor next to Alex’s head to give himself some leverage.

One of Alex’s hands dips to his lower back, pulling him in and causing his hips to roll down into Alex’s. Michael bites down on a groan and Alex gasps up into his mouth, wet and panting. He does it again, this time raising his hips to meet Michael’s, eliciting more noises from the both of them.

“Mmph, no, wait,” Michael says, and Alex pulls his hands away and is sitting up so fast it’s like he’s been burnt. The change in position means that Michael’s now straddling Alex’s lap, and he reacts immediately, wrapping his arms around Alex’s shoulders and gripping the back of his neck. “Whoa, hey. Relax,” he says softly, and waits until Alex has at least stopped trying to get away. “I just meant -- I mean, your dad’s _downstairs_.”

There’s a moment of silence and then Alex leans forward, forehead resting on Michael’s collarbone. He’s laughing gently, shoulders shaking with the movement.

Michael presses a kiss to his hair, the side of his face. “Hey. Go to prom with me.”

Alex gives one last laugh before he raises his head lazily to look Michael in the eye. “Is that a request or an order?”

“C’mon,” Michael says, tilting his head to the side and plastering on his most charming smile. “Go with me.”

Alex frowns, shakes his head a little. “No.”

“No?” Michael’s smile drops a little; he’s rapidly losing control of the situation and he knows it. Or… did he ever have control of the situation? He’s not sure anymore. Alex’s kisses have made him punch drunk and he has to regain focus. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to!” Alex supplies, pulling backwards even further so that he’s leaning back and they’re no longer pressed together chest to chest. “It’s an awful tradition and it’s a spectacle of heteronormativity.”

“Exactly! People won’t expect you to go,” Michael argues, hands falling to his sides now. “You said you don’t like doing what people expect of you. What better ‘fuck you’ then to go?”

Alex pushes at his shoulders, shoves him until he’s sprawling on the floor and Alex can pull his legs back towards himself. Michael wants nothing more than to reach out and bring them back together, to hold Alex against his body and drown in him like he had minutes ago, but Alex’s posture is a pretty clear _fuck off_ and he’s not about to push that.

“Why is this so important?” Alex asks. He’s all tense lines now, lips pressed together angrily. “What the hell is in it for you?”

Michael rolls his eyes and tries to play wounded. “Yeah, of course. Cause I have to have a sinister motive to want to spend time with you.”

“I don’t know,” Alex spits. “Do you?”

Michael scoffs in response to that, shaking his head in frustration. “You need therapy, Ortecho. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Every therapist I’ve ever seen.” Alex’s brow just furrows further. “Answer the question, Guerin.”

Michael stares across the floor at him, holding himself so defensively, gaze full of something that Michael can’t name but takes no pleasure in. The guilt is starting to curdle in his stomach, making him feel sick with it.

“Nothing!” he says eventually. “God, _nothing_. Why does there have to be something in it for me except the pleasure of your company?” He smacks the floor with his hand.

Alex watches him very carefully. “I think you should leave,” he says, after a beat.

He opens his mouth to argue and Alex just glares at him. “Get out, Guerin.”

Michael sucks in what he was going to say and instead pulls himself up off the floor. He checks that he has what he came here with; wallet, keys, then turns and walks to the door. He stops just before he turns the handle, the needling regret making him look back.

“Alex…” he tries, not even sure of what he’s going to say.

“Just go, Guerin!” Alex shouts.

Michael’s grip on the doorknob tightens. He pulls the door open and leaves.


	7. i'm always nervous on days like this like the prom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof, sorry this took so long guys! i was gonna do one really big chapter but it felt more natural to split it here, and to do the rest of the prom in the next one.
> 
> enjoy!

“Okay, show me how you’re going with your analysis,” Max says.

Liz stares down at the notes in her book, organised dot points listed underneath _She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron_ , which is underlined in her neat scrawl. It’s been nearly two weeks since the party at Tess’ house and Max hasn’t brought up their kiss _once_. She’d be worried that she’d imagined it if she hadn’t lain in bed for hours afterwards, pressing the pads of her fingers to her lips and smiling so broadly that her cheeks ached.

“Liz?” Max prompts her gently. Always gentle.

“Hm? Oh.” Liz taps the end of her pen against her notebook. “I mean, he’s just talking about how much he likes this lady.”

Max cocks his head and smiles at her fondly. It makes her stomach swoop. It always has; she’s quickly coming to realise that.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But there’s more to it than that. Byron was one of the most important Romantic poets, and this is one of his strongest pieces. What else?”

He’s so soft in his questioning that Liz sighs and looks back down at her notes, biting her lip. “He -- there’s a lot of talk of contrast, I guess? All this dark and bright, like the night, tender light.”

Max’s face lights up at her answer. “Yeah, exactly! You know, he never actually describes her? It’s like he goes out of his way to talk about his ideal woman, but the only concrete thing we know about her, are her ‘raven tresses’.”

Liz squints across the table at him as he babbles (adorably, to be fair). “Mm,” she starts. “It must have been nice for this lady to know _exactly_ how Byron felt about her.”

“Uh --” Max blinks. “I don’t think that there was --”

“What I mean,” Liz continues, without pause. “Is that he’s being very clear about his feelings, isn’t he? Very forward.”

“I -- I guess.”

Liz traces the words on her page idly. “I bet she wouldn’t have had to wait two weeks to be taken on a date.”

“Um. I’m not sure -- I don’t know if --”

“Let me ask you a question, Max,” Liz says, finally looking up from the desk to catch his gaze. “When are you going to ask me out?”

When Max just stares at her, dumbfounded, she scoffs and shakes her head. She gathers her notebook and pens, then shoves them into her bag before storming off.

_Boys_ , she thinks. _Utterly useless_.

*

The blow is softened a little when she stops in front of her locker the next day and finds a red rose taped to the door, along with a red corsage. When she opens the locker, she finds a slip of paper that has Max’s immaculate handwriting looped across it.

_She who walks in beauty,_  
Walk with me on prom night?   
Yours, Max

Liz lifts the rose to her face to smell the sweet fragrance, pockets the note, and skips off to first answer Max’s question, then to find Maria to tell her all about it.

*

The problem comes when she approaches Arturo that night as he closes the diner. She takes the broom when he holds it out to her and starts to sweep the floor.

“How was school?” he asks, falling into the easy conversation they always share.

“It was good, _papi_ ,” she replies, pausing to tuck some hair behind her hair. “Actually, something really nice happened today.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

Liz sucks in a breath. “Someone asked me to prom.”

“I see.” There’s a pause, during which she can her her father placing dishes in the sink. “Is Alex going?”

“No,” she grits her teeth. “But dad --”

“No buts,” Arturo cuts her off. “You know the rules, _mija_. I know who you want to bend the rules for; the Sheriff’s boy; that Kyle Valenti.” He waves a spatula at her. “If Alex isn’t going; you’re not going.”

“ _Papi_!” Liz protests. She doesn’t bother to correct him about her prom date; he’s hardly going to change his mind just because she wants to go with Max and not Kyle. “Are you even listening? Alex isn’t interested, I’m _dying_ to go!”

“No.” Arturo stands firm. “I know what happens at prom. There will be drinking and drug deals going on outside and --” he switches to Spanish, muttering to himself as he scrubs at a pan. Liz catches it snippets; something about _boys_ and _kisses_ and _hands_.

Liz grumbles and sweeps underneath the tables aggressively. “Why can’t I have just _one night_ of teenage normalcy? We’ll go, we’ll dance, he’ll drive me home and _yes_ I might get a kiss goodnight. What is so _wrong_ with that?”

“You think kissing is all your sister did at prom?” Arturo calls back. “I don’t care how hot his ride is.”

“How hot his --what?” Liz mouths to herself, brow furrowing in dismay, before raising her voice to call back: “That doesn’t make any --”

“End of discussion!” Her father calls from the back of the kitchen.

Liz huffs loudly and kicks the broom.

*

The knock on her door comes later that night. Liz frowns at her book, something on biology that she’d picked up at the library and hasn’t been able to focus on for at least half an hour now, but doesn’t rise from her spot on her bed.

“Come in,” she says, but doesn’t really mean it.

The door creaks open and she continues to stare stubbornly at the page as he brother shuffles in and closes the door behind him.

“Hey, I wanted to say --” he pauses when Liz doesn’t look up at him. She hears him step forward and then he’s smacking the top of her book. “Hey!”

Liz lowers the book with a put-upon sigh and meets his gaze.

“Listen,” he continues when he has her attention. “I’m sorry about this rule that dad’s got. I’m sorry you have to sit around here because I’m not some socialite.”

She tilts her head and regards him with a cool expression. “Like you care.”

He bristles a little at that and Liz celebrates a moment of triumph. “I _do_ care,” he assures her. “I’m just not going to be forced into doing something I don’t want to do by dad, or you, or anyone else for that matter.”

Liz vaguely wonders if the “anyone else” is Michael Guerin, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask. “I’m so glad that you have that luxury,” she says instead. “But I don’t. You might be living under Rosa’s shadow, but I’m being smothered by yours as well.” She puts the book down on the bed and leans forward, glaring at him. “I got asked to prom by someone I _really_ like, and I don’t get to go because you don’t _feel like it_.”

Alex stares at her for so long that she actually starts to shift a little uncomfortably. Then, he sits at the end of her bed and sighs in that dramatic way of his. “Kyle never told you that we used to be best friends, did he?”

Liz blinks at this new information. “Wait, really? I don’t remember that.”

He shrugs a shoulder in an effort to be dismissive, but Liz can tell by the tense way that he’s holding himself that this is something that matters. “It was before Dad took me in. When I – when I lived with Jesse.”

She sucks in a breath. They don’t talk about Jesse Manes, not really. It’s hard to remember a time when Alex wasn’t _officially_ her brother, but they do exist. Over the years, Alex has gotten better at talking about the time before he came to live with them, though it’s never been more than just quick comments in passing. She’s still mad at him but she doesn’t want to stop him if he’s going to start opening up.

“His dad and Jesse were friends so we were always at each other’s houses. We had this tree house…” he shakes his head and sighs wistfully. “That’s the summer my -- that Jesse figured out I was gay. He caught me and Kyle holding hands and went nuts.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Then Jim noticed the bruises

“ _Alex_ ,” Liz mutters. “We were -- we were _nine_.”

She remembers the day that Jim Valenti had turned up on her father’s door with Alex in tow. _Just for a few days, Arturo_ , Jim Valenti had asked her father. _Just until I can figure something out for him._ Two weeks later and her father had sat her and Rosa down to explain that Alex was going to be their brother now. Liz hadn’t even questioned it at the time, so delighted at the thought of having a brother around, that there would be four of them in the apartment above the Crashdown again.

“I know,” Alex says softly, like he’s trying to reassure her. “That’s not the point though. The thing is afterwards -- at _school_. Kyle turned into this homophobic bro jock. _That_ didn’t have anything to do with Jesse. That was all him, following the crowd and doing what everyone else was. I was a kid and I just my family and my best friend in one fell swoop.” He lifts his head to give her a small smile. “I got this family though, which was worth it.”

Liz can’t do anything but stare at him, dumbfounded by this information. It’s more history than Alex has ever shared with her in one sitting and she’s not really sure what to do with the information. Her heart aches for him, it bursts with love and relief that he came to them and not some other family. She’s never been more grateful to no longer be interested in Kyle Valenti.

Alex clears his throat. “Anyway, after that I decided to never do anything just because it was cool or someone expected me to.” He tilts his head from side to side. “With the exception of Tess’ party and my extraordinary coyote ugly table-dancing skills.”

Liz frowns as she tries to process this information. It makes sense, of course it does, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’ll be sitting at home reading while everyone else is at prom, or the fact that she can’t even go out on a date since Alex is fighting (or whatever) with Michael Guerin.

“How did I not know about this?” she asks.

Alex scoffs. “As if Kyle would want anyone to know he was friends with Alex “homosexual” Ortecho.”

“So why didn’t _you_ tell me?” This time her tone is accusatory.

“Oh.” He shrugs one shoulder, too casually for the mood. “I wanted to let you figure out he was an asshole by yourself.”

“Okay,” she says, rising up to her knees. “But you _didn’t_. You didn’t let me do _anything_. You let dad keep me hostage with his crazy rule of his when you _know_ how much the stuff with Rosa sucked.”

Liz watches as her brother struggles to find the words. “I guess -- I thought I was protecting you?”

She scowls in response. “By putting me in a bubble, _like dad_.” She makes her mind up and scrambles off the bed, opening her door and glaring at Alex.

“Liz,” he sighs, standing up slowly. “Experiences aren’t always good. I’m not keeping you here, not like dad. I just wanted to --”

“You’re exactly like him,” Liz accuses. “I just want to be a normal teenage and live my life and go to prom. None of that is going to make me Rosa.” Her glare narrows in on him. “You of all people should understand that.” Then she gestures to the open door.

Alex opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and then stalks through the door.

Liz shuts it behind him, gently. She’s mad at him, but they have a rule about slamming doors, and she’s seen the way he still twitches when the wind closes a door unexpectedly.

She flops back onto her bed, ignoring her book in favour of clutching at one of her pillows in frustration and fuming until she falls asleep.

*

**(alex)**

With only three days left until prom, Alex is officially torn. There’s a pro/con list at the back of his lyrics notebook that he’s been staring at all of English. He can see out of the corner of his eye how Maria keeps glancing over at him curiously. He can _feel_ Michael’s stare from the back of the classroom but he keeps his gaze fixed on his list.

**PROS**

  * liz gets to go
  * guerin in a tux
  * dancing with guerin



**CONS**

  * stupid teenage tradition
  * horrifically heteronormative
  * music will probably be shit



Despite the staring, Guerin doesn’t look like he’s going to make an approach after class, so Alex grabs Maria and hauls her off towards their lockers.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says.

“I know,” is her reply as she looks knowingly at the notebook in his hands.

Alex looks pained. “Listen, I know we made a deal not to go. And I still don’t think we should go. I think you should go through with your plan; I will totally help you set up the bucket of paint. You’re right; we’re not going. Who’d want to go and let a greasy-haired, hand-sweat teenage boy feel them up while they play shitty music over the hall speakers? It’s not like I have a tux anyway--”

“Alex.” Maria reaches over and slaps her hands down on his shoulders. “Breathe.”

He draws in a deep breath, nods.

“Okay.” Whens she pulls back and he gets a look at her face, there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “Listen, about prom…”

“I mean it,” he says quickly. “I’m not going back on the deal. I was just thinking about Liz and how much she wants to go and --”

“And Guerin in a tux,” Maria finishes for him, cheekily.

Alex fixes her with a look. She laughs.

“Alex, we should go,” she says, surprising him into silence. “I know we said we wouldn’t, but things have changed since we made our freshman pact. Liz can’t go unless you do, and you have Guerin now. Besides, I…”

Alex’s eyes narrow at her. “Somebody asked you.”

Maria’s blush deepens but she holds his gaze. Then she digs her hand into the pocket of her jacket and produces a small card. The front of it is decorated with an intricate drawing of two fish, which Alex quickly recognises as the Pisces symbol. He raises an eyebrow ad she slips open the card, revealing the writing inside.

_Sweet psychic Pisces,_  
Sources say our stars should align pretty well. Find out with me at prom?  
With great intensity and personal magnetism,  
An interested Scorpio

“An interested Scorpio?” Alex asks. “Do you know who it is?”

Maria shrugs one shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“ _Maria_ ,” Alex makes a pained noise.

She shakes her head in response. “No, Alex. I know what you’re going to say and I don’t agree. Not everyone is out to get you. Not everyone has an ulterior motive.” She pockets the note again and smooths down her jacket. “I’m going to go, so if you were looking to use me as an excuse, it’s not gonna fly, boy.”

She reaches out to tap him on the nose and then spins around, heading down the hallway to her next class. Alex watches her go, and thinks about the tux hanging in his closet.

*

“Bye Dad, we’re going to the prom,” Alex calls as he walks past the living room towards the stairs.

Arturo doesn’t turn away from where he’s watching the TV. “Very funny, _mijo_.”

Alex shakes his head and waits at the top of the stairs for Liz, who finally appears from her room in a stunning red dress. He immediately softens at the sight of her, and the memory of someone else wearing something very similar.

“Liz, you look beautiful,” he says. “Did you--?”

Liz nods, oddly shy for her. “I texted Rosa a picture of the pink dress. She said I should wear this instead.”

“She was right,” Arturo says, and they both turn to see him rising from the couch. He tears his gaze from Liz to look at Alex. “And you, _mijo._ So handsome.”

Alex smooths his hands down the shiny silver material of his tux. “Thanks, Pops. We’ve uh -- we have to go. We’re gonna be late.”

There’s a knocking sound from the front door downstairs. Alex and Liz look at each other.

“Who is that?” Arturo asks.

“My date,” Liz answers quickly. “You know how you said I could only go if Alex went? Well, Alex is going because he found this guy who, honestly _papi_ , is completely perfect for him. So, Alex is going _with_ him. Which is great, because Max Evans asked me to go with _him_ and I really want to. I like him so much and he’s so sweet.” She stops to take a breath.

Alex takes the opportunity to raise an eyebrow. “Max Evans?” he asks, the _not Kyle Valenti?_ goes unsaid but implied.

“Max Evans,” Liz confirms. She turns back to Arturo. “We can go, right, _papi?_ ”

Arturo looks between them and then shrugs helplessly. “If Alex is going, then yes. Those were the rules.”

“Thank you!” Liz squeals and leans over to kiss his cheek, then speeds past Alex down the stairs.

Arturo narrows his eyes. “Tell him I am very friendly with all the cops in town.”

Alex nods his head and laughs. “I’ll let him know.”

When he gets down to the diner, Max and Liz are standing in the doorway, staring at each other with matching blushes across their cheeks. He waits a second before walking over and waving a hand in front of their faces.

“You guys can stand here and stare at each other all night but some of us have to get through the door and get going.”

“Uh, right.” Max clears his throat. He has a pink flower pinned to his tux, and Alex spies the matching flower on Liz’s wrist. “Let’s -- go?” He hesitates for a second before offering her arm. Liz takes it and lets him lead her out the door.

Alex watches them get into Max’s car and drive off before he climbs into his own. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

*

He can hear the music from outside the hall where he’s standing on the steps. It’s a live band, which surprises him, but it’s not quite enough to make him go inside yet. He’s thinking about texting Guerin to meet him at the bleachers and smoke some of Maria’s hidden stash there instead when he hears the intake of breath behind him.

Alex turns to find Michael behind him, looking like he’s been sucker-punched. He’s dragging his gaze all over and Alex can feel it as if it were his hands, dragging over his shoulders and down his chest. he has to keep his breathing measured because while he’s imagining Michael’s hands in all the places he’s looking, Michael himself looks _good_. Someone’s obviously fitted him for a tux because it stretches in all the right places; across his shoulders, at his elbows. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone because the boy is allergic to buttons and Alex has never been more glad of it.

“Wow,” Michael says after a few moments that feel like minutes.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes out. “You too. Where’d you get fitted for a tux like that at the last minute?”

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs one shoulder. Alex follows the line of his body and bites down on his lip. “Just something I had lying around.”

Alex’s eyes snap back to his face. He’s grinning. “Oh.”

“Where’d _you_ get the tux last minute?” Michael asks, tongue peeking out to swipe at his own lip.

“Oh, _you know_ ,” is Alex’s reply as he reaches up and thumbs the black lapels of his suit. “Just something I had. Lying around.”

Michael ducks his head and laughs, curls bouncing with the movement. Alex steps forward and reaches out, forearms resting on Michael’s shoulders as he leans forward for a kiss. Michael responds easily, hands coming up to hold Alex’s sides as they kiss slowly.

“Listen,” Alex says softly when they break apart. “I’m sorry I questioned your motives. I was wrong and I --”

Michael kisses him again, softer this time, and pulls back just as quickly. “You’re forgiven.”

Alex closes his eyes and nods, inhaling slowly to calm himself and to re-familiarize himself with Michael’s scent. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Ready to go to prom?”

Michael drops his hands and takes a step back, offering Alex his arm. “Ready if you are, sir.”

He takes Michael’s arm with a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”


	8. it’s prom night and i am all alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're on the home stretch now, my dudes! hang in there and remember that there's a happy ending on the horizon for all c:

**(michael)**

Michael leads them into the main hall where most of their peers are crowded onto the dancefloor. There’s a live band on stage, and he delights at the surprise on Alex’s face as they slowly move closer to the music.

“I really expected the music to suck,” Alex says over the noise.

“Well, you just have to have a little faith,” Michael counters. “Do you want a drink?”

Alex shakes his head and gestures to the dancefloor. Michael grins in response. Their arms are still linked together so he draws Alex towards the dancing masses. On the way, they pass Liz and Max dancing together, arms wrapped around each other and cheeks pressed close together. He catches Max’s eye and nods, unable to keep the joy from spilling onto his face. Max grins back, completely dopey and horribly smittend. Michael’s happy for him.

“Oh.” Alex says, again with surprise. “I thought -- I didn’t know she was coming with Max.”

“Shows what you know,” Michael laughs. He drags his hand down Alex’s arm until he’s gripping his hand, then spins him in an impromptu twirl. Alex laughs unselfconsciously and Michael’s heart thumps against his ribs. Alex comes to the end of his twirl and their gazes find one another. 

“Alex!” They’re both pulled from the moment by Maria’s voice. She walks up to them in a beautiful, flowing purple dress, her hair full of flowers of the same purple. She looks stunning, and a little worried. “Have you seen her?”

Alex presses a gentle hand to her shoulder, brow furrowing. “Seen who, Maria?”

“The scorpio,” Maria replies, looking around the room. “We were supposed to meet here. Now I’m worried that it was all just a prank or a trick.”

“ _Who_ , Maria?” Alex asks again. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be looking for.”

But Michael does; he drove her here, and he’d tied the pretty purple corsage to her wrist. He takes Maria gently by the shoulders and spins her around to face Isobel, who’s walking towards them in her gorgeous pink dress, her blonde hair pinned up and perfect as always. The crowd parts for her like she commands it and she doesn’t look nervous, but Michael knows her too well for that.

“Deluca,” she greets Maria, giving her a once over and then a second, longer look over. She reaches out and runs her fingers along the flowers in Maria’s hair. “Dance with me?”

Maria turns to Alex, long enough to smile at him, before she takes Isobel’s offered hand and they disappear into the crowd.

“I never would have guessed,” Alex admits.

Michael snorts. “You don’t know Isobel. This has been in the cards for a while.”

“Oh, is that so?” Alex turns to grin at him just as the band finishes the song and they all raise their hands to clap.

Michael leans in close to quietly say, “Yes,” before turning back to the stage with a conspiratorial grin.

The next song starts up, one that he knows Alex will find familiar. If the way he bounces on the balls of his feet is any indication; he’s recognised it. Michael keeps his eyes on the stage until a second singer walks onto the stage to join the first. He feels Alex freeze next to him as the lead singer of Danger! At The Picture Show sings the opening lines to his own song.

Michael finally turns to look at Alex, who is looking back and forth between Michael and the stage.

“How--?”

“I may have called in a favour,” Michael shrugs, feeling the happiness bubbling in his chest and threatening to spill out. He gestures for Alex to look back at the stage but Alex’s eyes stays on him. The back of his neck prickles at the attention but he holds Alex’s gaze. He’s rewarded when Alex reaches out to grab him by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a firm kiss. He lingers but doesn’t turn it dirty, just sharing breaths for a moment before he pulls back and grins.

“Dance with me,” he says.

As if Michael would ever say no.

*

“UNM.” Michael says, several songs later.

Alex spins into his arms, keeping pace with one of D!atPS’s faster tunes. “What?” he asks in confusion.

“It’s where I was last summer,” Michael admits. He’s slightly out of breath because they haven’t stopped dancing since the band came on but he wants so desperately to tell Alex more truths and he feels like he’ll burst if he doesn’t start spilling them. “I know there’s a thousand rumours but I wasn’t in rehab, I didn’t become a stripper, and I’m not on any watch lists --I think.” He kisses Alex on the mouth and twirls him. “They’re giving me a scholarship, so I spent most of the summer up there getting a head start on classes. End of story.”

“Michael!” Alex laughs, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck as the song comes to an end. “That’s amazing.” He leans in for a kiss but Michael is pulled away by a hand on his arm.

“Guerin!” Michael finds himself looking at a red-faced Kyle Valenti. He looks good in his all white tux; it was a real pity about his personality. “How come Liz is here with that Shakespeare wannabe?” he demands to know, gesturing over at where Liz and Max are still dancing.

Michael shrugs with a kind of casualness he doesn’t feel, not when Alex is standing just feet away. “She made her choice, man. Maybe you should respect that?”

Kyle scowls and reaches forward to shove at him. “‘I’m not paying you to take out Ortecho so that some angsty nerd could undercut me and bring her to prom!”

Kyle might keep talking or he might be finished; Michael has no idea. All the air has left the room and he’s looking over Kyle’s shoulder at where Alex is standing. The lines of his body are tense, his fists curled at his sides.

He’s heard everything.

Michael’s expecting the anger. He’s expecting the fury. What he’s not expecting is the way that Alex’s face crumples when their eyes meet.

He opens his mouth with Alex’s name on the tip of his tongue, to say something, anything, to plead and beg --

“Nothing in it for you, huh?” Alex says. He takes less than a second to regain his composure, expression going carefully blank. Then he turns and walks away.

Panic grips at Michael’s chest. He pushes past Kyle, ignoring his protests, and runs after Alex.

*

**(liz)**

Across the room, Liz startles when Isobel and Maria appear beside her and Max.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Isobel says, and she actually sounds like she means it. “But the Kyle-shit has hit the fan.” She gestures over to where Michael is running out of the room and Kyle looks like he’s thinking about following.

“Um. Just a second,” Max says, dropping his hands from Liz to follow Isobel, who is stalking over towards Kyle.

Liz offers Maria her arm, who takes it with a smile, and they follow their dance partners.

Kyle has turned his red-faced rage on Isobel when they catch up, one accusatory finger pointed in her direction. He’s talking about giving Michael money for something, accusing Isobel and Max of tricking him.

Max puts himself between the two of them, frowning as threateningly as he can which, in Liz’s opinion, isn’t all that much. God, she really does like him.

“You messed with the wrong guy,” Kyle shouts at the two of them. “You’re both gonna pay. You _and_ that little fa-”

“Alright, that’s _enough_ ,” Max says firmly. He steps forward and gets in Kyle’s face. “You’ve crossed the line, Valenti. I’m not going to let you --”

He’s cut off when Kyle’s fist connects with the side of his face, sending him flying backwards and onto the ground.

“Is that all you got?” Kyle demands. “Oh come _on_ , Evans. Get up!”

Liz quietly extricates her arm from Maria’s and steps up to Kyle.

“Kyle?” she says sweetly.

He turns to look at her smugly, which is when she curls her fist the way Alex taught her, and socks Kyle right in the nose.

Kyle makes a high-pitched, ungodly sound. “ _Shit, Liz_!” He cups his nose with both hands and hisses in pain. “I’ve got a meeting with a talent scout tomorrow!”

“That’s for punching my date,” Liz says calmly. She swings her foot up and then stamps down on his foot with the heel. He makes the noise a second time.

“That’s for my brother,” she tells him. Then she grabs him by the shoulders and brings her knee quite forcefully towards the place she knows it’ll hurt most. “And that, is for me,” she finishes.

She takes a step back and lets Kyle fall to the floor, now clutching at his junk with tears in his eyes. She pats down her dress and then reaches out to Max, helping him off the floor. Behind them, Maria and Isobel are pulling each other close again.

“Are you okay?” Liz asks Max, running gentle fingers over the red spot on his face.

He smiles back at her dopily. “Never better,” he answers.

She smiles in return and goes onto her tiptoes to press their lips together, smiling widely into the kiss. When she pulls back, the expression on Max’s face is ridiculous and just makes her want to kiss him again.

“I have to go check on Alex,” she says. “I’ll be back?”

He nods understandingly. “Of course. Go.” He brings her hand up, the one she punched Kyle with, and kisses her knuckles. She blushes and turns away, hurrying off to find Alex before she can get distracted by Max’s hands and his face and his -- everything.

*

**(michael)**

Michael catches up with Alex as they barrell towards the top of the stairs. He’s been calling Alex’s name since he left the dancefloor, but Alex is yet to respond or even look his way.

“Alex, come on. Just let me--”

“You were _paid_ to date me!” Alex shouts, stopping just at the edge of the steps. He’s clearly gotten himself under control; his expression is all anger and none of the sadness that Michael had seen briefly. “And by the worst person possible. I knew this whole thing was some kind of scheme.”

“No, Alex--” Michael reaches out towards him but Alex flinches back. Michael deflates. “It wasn’t like that, okay? It was _never_ just--”

“Oh, really?” Alex laughs humourlessly. “Tell me what it was _like,_ Guerin. A hundred now, and a bonus for fucking me after?”

Michael’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head emphatically. “No, god. Of course not. I never cared about the money, Alex. I only ever cared about--” he swallows thickly, heart in his throat. “I _only_ cared about you.”

Alex looks at him then, tears brimming in his eyes. He looks angry and fierce, stunning in the blue suit and black eyeliner, and clawing misery works its way up Michael’s chest.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” Alex says, delivering the final, devastating blow.

Desperation propels Michael forward. He takes Alex’s face in his hands and smashes their mouths together. Alex pushes back against him immediately, shoving at his shoulders with his full strength.

“Don’t touch me!” he spits, sending Michael tripping backwards.

He turns and makes his way down the stairs; he doesn’t look back. Michael watches him go, the warm and hopeful feeling from earlier in the night long gone, replaced by heavy despair and a guilt that makes the bile rise in his throat.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, only that at some point, Liz comes to a stop next to him with Maria not far behind her.

“What happened?” she asks, breathless.

“Guerin?” Maria asks, when he doesn’t answer.

Michael turns to look at them then, wondering if he looks as lost as he feels. “He knows about -- the deal.”

Maria makes a _huh?_ noise and Liz frowns at him.

“Okay,” she says, drawing out the word while she stares at him in confusion. “Max helped you woo him, right? What’s so bad about--” she stops, and Michael has the absolute horror of watching her put the context clues together.

“Kyle said he was paying you for something,” she puzzles it out.

Maria looks murderous and something akin to horror dawns across Liz’s face.

“You were being _paid_?” she asks. Although they might not be blood-related, he can see the resemblance to Alex in the way that she curls her fists at her sides and scowls at him.

He nods miserably.

“If I hadn’t already punched someone tonight, Michael Guerin…” she lifts an accusatory finger at him. “How could you? I thought -- I thought you _liked_ him and they just pushed you to--” a second, more painful realisation washes over her features. “Did Max know?”

Michael, determined not to screw up everyone’s nights, shakes his head firmly.

“Did I know what?” Max, the idiot, exits into the foyer with Isobel, no doubt come to find their dates.

Liz rounds on him. “Did you know that Michael was being paid to date my brother?”

And Max, who is a pretty terrible liar to begin with but can’t hold his own against a small, feisty Ortecho, flounders. “I didn’t -- well, I mean -- it’s not exactly--”

Liz makes a noise of disgust, tears filling her eyes. “How could you?” she repeats the question she’d asked Michael, though this time it comes out broken and pleading. Max looks completely lost.

“I just -- wanted to be able to take you on a date, Liz,” he tries to explain.

“At the expense of my brother’s dignity?” she asks. “His happiness?” She curses him loudly in Spanish with words even Michael doesn’t understand. “Tonight is _over_! I never want to speak to you again, Max Evans.”

And with those parting words, she turns and exits down the stairs, her red dress billowing in the breeze.

Maria, who had been seething quietly behind her friend, steps up to Isobel with a look that might have killed. Given the pained expression on Isobel’s face, it might have already been halfway there.

“These two aren’t cunning enough to come up with a scheme like this,” she says. “Roping Valenti in? No, this was _your_ grand plan, wasn’t it?”

“Maria--” Isobel starts, looking more flustered than Michael can ever remember seeing her.

“No.” Maria doesn’t even let her get as far as Max. She looks Isobel up and down, sighing at whatever it is that she finds. “The power to coerce and manipulate people,” she says. “I should have known better.”

Isobel is left gawking as Maria turns and follows her friends down the stairs and away from the prom.

Michael looks over his siblings; Max, who looks shell-shocked and teary, and Isobel, with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth to cover an anguished gasp. He turns back to where two Ortechos and a Deluca disappeared into the night.

“Fuck,” he says.


	9. i believe in a thing called love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i just want to say thank you to everyone who's read, given kudos, left a comment, shared on tumblr... this fic has been an absolute pleasure to write, and your interactions have been delightful. please enjoy this last chapter, my absolute favourite of the whole thing. 
> 
> i hope the ending is to people's satisfaction and drawn out enough. it was only when writing out this story that i realised how quickly kat forgives patrick in the film. it's crazy!!

**(liz)**

The weekend after prom is unbearable.

Liz is miserable, and so angry that she doesn't know what to do with herself. She restarts her bio chem project three times, cries more times then she cares to admit, and fails to delete Max's number no less than five times.

Alex is just as bad. When pressed, he says he's fine, but his music is angrier (and louder) than normal, she's only seen him leave his room to go downstairs and get food, and the one pass she did do of his room revealed a waste basket of crumpled up paper. That usually signified new lyrics.

So it isn't much of a surprise when, on Sunday afternoon, Arturo calls them both downstairs.

"Come on, Alex," Liz pleads, knocking on Alex's door.

"I'm busy!"

"Dad wants us in the kitchen," Liz explains.

A pause. Then, the door opens.

"Fine." Alex says with a deep frown. As if he would ever refuse to help their dad in the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

He pushes past her and towards the stairs. She rolls her eyes and closes his door and then hurries down the stairs after him. She runs straight into his back though because he’s stopped two steps into the kitchen. Liz peers around his shoulder and freezes at what she sees.

“Well, don’t just stand there _hermanos_. Come and hug me!"

They move at the same time, arms enveloping Rosa Ortecho, culminating in the tightest sibling hug any of them can imagine. No one speaks as they drink in each other's presence.

At some point, Liz raises her head to look over Rosa's shoulder, searching for her father. Arturo is smiling softly, the warmth of it reaching his eyes and lighting them up in a way Liz rarely gets to see. He sees her watching and the smile only grows. He brings a hand to his heart and taps it happily. She grins back at him and buries her face in her sister's hair.

*

"Jeez, you three really are miserable shits," Rosa announces an hour later. "It's a good thing dad called me."

Maria had shown up twenty minutes after Rosa, her presence having been requested in text form while Rosa waited for them. Then they'd all climbed to the roof of the Crashdown with fries and milkshakes, just like old times. Well, the milkshakes were new and in aid of Rosa's new sobriety.

" _Rosa_ ," Liz chides, but she doesn't even really mean it. It feels so good to have them all here, she's almost forgotten the week's events.

Though apparently not well enough.

"Max Evans." Rosa clucks her tongue. "I can't believe you finally made moon eyes back at that book nerd."

"Augh." Liz facepalms.

"And you!" Rosa turns on Maria. "The Ice Queen herself, huh? I thought I taught you better than that."

Maria aggressively slurps on her milkshake.

"But you, _hermanito_ ," she turns to Alex. " _Guerin_. I'm impressed. Is he really a bad boy?"

"He's an ass," Alex replies without pause. "You really got nothing better to do than talk about highschool gossip?"

"Don't sass me," she says and waves a hand. “Fine. I bet all you nerds want to hear about Santa Fe.”

“Please,” all three of them say in tandem. They pause to look at each other and then burst out laughing.

“ _Idiotas_ ,” Rosa says, but Liz can tell that it’s fond. Then, she launched into a story about wall near her apartment block that she’s been commissioned to paint. Liz shuffles next to Alex, who wordlessly lifts an arm, and she settles into his side.

*

School the next day is… not great. Everyone is still abuzz about the prom and subsequent weekend events, and it seems like anyone in class wants to talk about. Liz hunkers down and tries to focus on her classroom, but she breathes a sigh of relief when the lunch bell rings out through the building.

That is, until Max catches her at her locker.

“Liz, please,” he launches straight into pleading and begging, which Liz finds entirely appropriate. “Just give me five minutes.”

“I remember telling you not to speak to me ever again,” Liz says unkindly, pulling out her bio book to take home with her.

“ _Please_ ,” Max repeats. Liz makes the mistake of turning to look at him and sees those sad, soulful eyes directed right at her. She bites her lip and turns back to her locker immediately.

“I’m so sorry, Liz,” Max continues. “I really am.”

Liz slams her locker shut, then closes her eyes and lets out a slow breath. “There’s someone you should be _more_ sorry to, Max,” she tells him. “Your actions hurt my brother. I can’t ignore that. I _won’t_.”

Max watches her sadly for another moment before something dawns across his face. He nods feverently. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” And without another word, he turns and disappears down the hall.

Liz watches him go, feeling sad, and wishing she didn’t feel quite so sad about Max Evans.

*

**(alex)**

Alex is, surprised, to say the least, when Max and Isobel Evans approach him at the end of school. Liz had filled him in over the weekend in regards to their involvement in the -- scheme. He couldn’t bare to think of it as anything else. Most of his fury was still geared towards Guerin, and then Valenti, but he had enough anger left to apply a healthy dose to the Evans twins.

It’s been a fucked up day. It was as if the joy that Rosa’s presence had brought them all was snuffed out the moment they stepped over the threshold of their highschool. Liz was snappier than usual, Maria kept looking off into the distance with a far-off stare, and Alex? He had two classes with Guerin to endure, and then he’d had to aggressively ignore the way Guerin stared at him during lunch. He’d felt Guerin’s gaze on him like it was a tangible thing. He’d had to grit his teeth and focus so hard on the notebook in front of him that his eyes started to water.

Alex wasn’t anywhere close to being in the mood to deal with the twins. And yet.

“That’s close enough,” he says, when they’re a few feet away from his car. They stop obediently and neither of them say anything as he throws his bag in through the open window. So there’s that at least, he thinks, then turns to face them.

“If you’re here to plead a case for Guerin--”

They look at each other. They’ve always had some kind of freaky twin telepathy going on, Alex has just never been close enough to them to witness it for himself.

“No,” Isobel says finally, when they look at him again. “He can do that himself. We’re here to apologise for our part in what happened.”

Alex raises his eyebrows, as if to say, _go on_.

Isobel squares her shoulders and steels herself. “It was my idea to involve Michael, and it was my idea to involve Valenti. I would have asked Michael to woo you regardless, but I thought the extra motivation might help.” She shrugs one shoulder. “And besides; who doesn’t want to screw over Valenti? The point is; I’m sorry for my part in it, and for how it turned out.”

Alex leans back against his car and regards her cooly. To her credit, she makes the apology without raising her nose in that posh way of hers, and she doesn’t trip over the words. He can see what Maria might like in her; confidence, sharp wit, undeniably beautiful.

His gaze turns to Max. Isobel nudges her brother and gestures to Alex.

“Right.” Max nods. “See, I’ve liked Liz for a _really long time_ and--”

“Yes, Max,” Alex interrupts him, his tone biting. “Everyone knows that. Try again.”

Max sucks in a shaky breath. “Okay. Yes. Um. I went to Isobel with the idea. I shouldn’t have -- let it get that far. We never should have involved Valenti and the money. I’m really sorry, Alex.”

Alex regards them both then, arms crossed across his black jumper. “You want to date the girls,” he says, with the utmost confidence that he’s right.

The twins look at each other again, which is all the answer he needs.

He scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief, then opens the door and slips into his car.

“Wait -- are we forgiven?” Isobel calls after him.

He ignores her and starts the car. They both step out of the way and he does do them the courtesy of waiting until they are completely out of harm’s way before he throws the car into reverse and gets the hell out of there.

*

Things settle into normalcy, or as close as possible, within a week. Rosa goes back home, Liz dives into a biology project, and Maria’s at home helping out her mum. There’s no one to hang out with in the Crashdown, so Alex heads straight upstairs when he gets home from school.

It’s barely twenty minutes later that he hears the tell-tale sound of Arturo knocking and he looks up to see his dad standing in the doorway. He takes his headphones off and looks away from where he’s been working on his English assignment. He nods to indicate that he’s listening.

“I thought we could finally talk about the dance,” Arturo says, not moving from his spot in the doorway. He still has his apron and the antennae on, which should make it hard to take him seriously as a father, but is mostly just endearing.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” Alex replies with a shrug.

Arturo makes a face. “I heard it was, uh, popping?”

Alex’s eyebrows rise to his forehead. “Oh, something _popped_ alright. Kyle Valenti’s jaw. When Liz socked him.”

“Liz did what?”

Alex looks down and grins at his lap. “Worried that I’ve rubbed off on her?”

Arturo regards him for just a second longer than Alex is comfortable with. “No, actually. Impressed.”

Alex’s head whips up to look at him, but he’s so surprised that he doesn’t have anything to say in response.

Arturo clears his throat, wipes his hands on his apron. “You know,” he says, stepping further into Alex’s room. “When you came to live with us, you were just a boy. So scared. Always flinching and so timid about asking me things. Now, you are so brave, _mihijo_.” His lips curl up into a smile. “You test my patience, but it pleases me that you’re no longer afraid. It’s hard--” he presses a hand to his chest. “--to have three fearless children. And to know that soon, they will all be away from this town.”

“Pop--” Alex freezes. “Wait, what?”

Arturo reaches into his pocket and pulls out two envelopes. He crosses the room and hands them to Alex. They’re thick, and feel weighty in his palm.

“What are these?” he asks, eyes wide with emotion.

“The first of what I think will be many acceptances,” Arturo tells him.

Alex drops the letters to his bed so that he can stand and throw his arms around Arturo. Arms wrap around him in return and they sway on the spot, enveloped in warmth and love.

Eventually, Arturo pulls back, making a show of wiping away tears from his face.

“I should get back downstairs,” he says. He reaches out to press a hand to Alex’s cheek, looking over his face, then turns and leaves the room.

Alex stands there for a long time, feeling loved and happy and overwhelmed. He looks down at the two letters, each from a college he’d written up applications to, and then over to the notebook where his half-written English assignment glared back at him.

Bravery, his father had said. Well, al-fucking-right then.

*

“I’m going to forgive the Evans twins,” Alex tells Liz and Maria on the way to school the next day.

Liz and Maria look at each other in surprise.

“Alex--” Liz starts.

“You don’t have to--” Maria says.

“I know that,” Alex waves them off. “Max has mooned over you for years, Liz. He saw the opportunity to date you and jumped. Isobel is too clever for her own damn good; is it really a shocker she used her powers to help her brother? Besides, they both came and apologised to me a few days ago.”

Liz’s eyes go wide. “He did? I mean -- they did?”

Alex rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, they did. They obviously want to be with you guys. And you guys want them, so…”

“You think we should just -- take them back?” Liz asks, tentatively.

Alex throws his head back and laughs. “God no. I think you should make them grovel for _ever_ if you’re still mad at them. But,” his expression goes soft as he looks at two of his three favourite girls in the entire universe. “I don’t want you to be mad at them for _me_. Although, again, a little pleading and begging never hurt anyone.”

“I’m not sure,” Liz admits.

“I’ll think about it,” Maria decides.

“They made you happy,” Alex says, looping his arms with theirs. “Even if it was just for a few hours. And if I have to see Max Sad-Eyes Evans one more time, I’m going to kick something.”

They walk in silence while the two of them mull that over.

“What about you?” Liz asks, after a little while. “Are you going to forgive--”

“No.” In the silence after, he sighs, thinking of the assignment sitting in his bag, hastily scrawled onto his notepad. “Maybe if he got off his ass and _did_ something instead of staring at me across the cafeteria --” he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Come on,” he says to Maria. “We’ll be late for English.”

*

Mr Green taps his make-shift podium at the front of the class and waits exactly five seconds for them to settle in and pipe down.

“I know that everyone was _super_ excited about prom, but I trust you all took the time to finish your poems for this assignment?”

When he’s met with echoing silence, he rolls his eyes. “Come on. One of you must have finished this thing. Who wants to read first.”

Alex stares down at his notepad and the words running down the page. He changes a look back at Guerin, who’s staring down at his desk like it might catch fire if he focuses hard enough. Alex’s head whips back around and he swallows thickly.

“ _Any_ one?”

He raises a hand. “I’ll go.”

Out of the corner of his periphery, he sees Guerin’s head snap up.

Mr Green rolls his eyes. “Christ, here we go.” He steps away and gestures for Alex to come to the front.

He walks up and places his notepad on the podium, not that he really needs it. The words are etched into his mind at this point he’s gone over them so much. The lines changed every time his mood did, every time he felt a fresh wave of anger or sadness or deep-in-his-gut yearning. He clears his throat.

“I hate the way you smile at me,  
and the way you curl your hair.  
I hate the way you drive your truck,  
I hate the way you stare.  
I hate your old rock t-shirts,  
and that your jeans are mostly holes.  
I hate you so much it makes me sick,  
it makes my stomach roll.”

He pauses and takes a deep breath. Maria is smiling at him from their row, tears in the corners of her eyes. He doesn’t dare look towards the back of the desks.

“I hate the way you’re crazy smart,  
I hate it that you lied.  
I hate that you can make me laugh,  
worse, that you make me cry.  
I hate --” he has to pause again to collect himself.

“I hate that now you’re not around  
and the fact that you won’t call.  
Worst of all; I hate the way I _don’t_ hate you,  
not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

Alex looks over at Guerin as he finishes, who’s looking back at him with a pained expression. He clears his throat and steps away from the faux-podium, making his way back to his desk. Maria reaches over and gives his arm a supportive squeeze. 

He can still feel Guerin’s gaze on him, but it doesn’t feel quite as oppressive as it had a few days ago.

*

Nothing happens. At least, not straight away. Alex wasn’t expecting a grand gesture and reconciliation or anything, but at the very least, he’d been hoping for an apology.

Liz and Max hold hands as they walk down the hallways. It’s disgusting, and Alex is so full of love for her he nearly bursts. Maria takes her time, though she and Isobel and clearly on their way to reconciliation, if the flowers bursting out of Maria’s locker and the smile on her face are anything to go by.

Alexs is happy for them, he truly is.

Two days later, Kyle approaches his locker tentatively. His nose still has a bandage over it, from what Alex has heard was a stellar punch from Liz.

“What do you want, Valenti?” Alex asks, when Kyle just stands there.

“I want --” Kyle sounds so unsure of himself that Alex turns fully face him as he struggles to speak. “I want to apologise?”

“Is that a question?”

“No,” Kyle scowls, then quickly softens again. “Listen, I know I haven’t been fair to you--”

“Try a raging, homophobic dick,” Alex corrects him.

To his surprise, Kyle nods. “Yeah that. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since prom--”

“You mean, since my sister kneed you square in the balls?” Alex asks.

Kyle looks annoyed at being interrupted but he doesn’t argue. “Yes. I _like_ Liz, so it really put some things into perspective for me. And then Guerin came to talk to me and--”

That gets Alex’s attention. “Wait, Guerin talked to you?”

Kyle nods warily. “Uh, yeah. He came to give me back all the money left over from -- well.” He rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “And that really got me thinking, you know? About how shitty that was. Isobel is like, _super_ convincing, but it was still an unbelievably shitty thing to do.”

Alex tries to process all of that as quickly as possible. He narrows his eyes. “I’m not convinced you’ve had a change of heart over night.”

“I mean, it’s over a few weeks --” he stops at the look on Alex’s face. “Right, sure. I get that.”

Alex stares at him, thinking about afternoons in backyards and treehouses in the summer. “It’s going to take you a long time to make it up to me,” he says, inspecting his nails like the whole thing means nothing to him.

Kyle still looks wary, but he nods his head. “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean a _really_ long time,” Alex specifies. “And don’t think this is going to, like, win Liz over or anything. She’s already picked her dickhead.”

“That’s -- yeah.” Kyle looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. That’s a point in his column. Half a point. It’s a start.

Alex clears his throat. “You can start by going away.”

Kyle blinks at him.

Alex shakes a hand towards him. “Go. Shoo. Why are you still standing there?”

Kyle opens and closes his mouth like a fish, then thinks better of whatever he was going to do, and turns to walk away.

Alex turns and shakes his head, just staring into his locker for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. He doesn’t want to admit it but it hurts that Michael’s talked to Kyle but not him. He also doesn’t really know what to do with Kyle suddenly eating the humble pie. It’s been a weird fucking week.

*

He’s opening the door to his car that afternoon when he notices the guitar sitting in the driver’s seat.

Alex throws his bag into the car and picks up the guitar in wonder. It’s a beautiful sleek, black, acoustic guitar with an intricate silver pattern on one section of the sound board. He can distinctly remember staring at this exact guitar longingly, though he’d known he’d never be able to affordit. It’s clearly new, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” 

Alex puts the guitar down gently on the seat and takes a calming breath before he turns around. Michael is leaning against the side of his car, hip cocked and arms crossed. He looks good. He _always_ looks good. Alex is so busy drinking him in that he almost forgets to be mad.

“It is,” he agrees. “Is it for me?”

“Yeah.” Michael nods. “I thought you could use it to launch that musical career of yours. Lead guitarists always have more than one guitar, right? Besides, I, uh--” he looks down at his feet, shifting uncomfortably before looking back up at Alex. “I had some cash to burn. This right asshole paid me to take out this super cool guy.”

Alex has to fight the urge to grin. It’s ridiculous. There’s no way he’s letting Michael off this easy. “I think I might have talked to that asshole today.” His eyes flick to the guitar. “Said he’d had all of his money returned.”

“Well, most of it,” Michael admits. “I thought some of it should go to the party that we both wronged.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I, um. Screwed up. Real bad.” Michael hangs his head. “I lied and hurt this really great guy. I should have just told him from the start that I--I think he’s amazing. We could have, uh.” He laughs. “We could have conned the asshole together.”

Now, Alex can’t help but smile. “ _Really_?”

“Really.” Michael confirms. He pushes off the car and steps into Alex’s space. He reaches up to run his fingers down the side of Alex’s face when Alex doesn’t move away. “I mean, it’s not everyday you find a guy who will flash a teacher to get you out of detention.”

Alex blinks at him and then breaks into startled laughter. He’s going to track down whoever shared _that_ particular story and talk sense into them. He’s so busy thinking about getting revenge for the embarrassment, that he misses the way that Michael sways forward until their mouths are pressed together.

He sinks into the feeling for just a moment before he pulls back, remembering how mad he was. He points an accusatory finger at Michael. “You can’t just buy me an instrument or insult Kyle everytime you fuck up.”

Michael winces. “I know, believe me.” He purses his lips as he seems to be thinking. “But you know, there’s always the mic set-up, all those pedals, maybe even one day, an alien-shaped guitar pick.”

Alex rolls his eyes exasperatedly. Then he grabs two fistfuls of Michael’s shirt and pulls him back in, slotting their mouths together.

This time it’s Michael who pulls back, lips already shiny and kiss-red. “Wait,” he says. “I’ve got more apologies. Don’t you want--”

Alex shoves him against the side of the car and shuts him up with his mouth. Michael relents immediately, sliding his arms around Alex’s middle and pull him close. Alex slides his arms over Michael’s shoulders and threads his hands into Michael’s hair, fingertips scratching at his scalp and fists tightening in the curls to keep him there.

There are probably people watching. Alex doesn’t care. He’s got a new guitar and, theoretically, a boyfriend, who is currently peppering kisses all over his face.

Well, shit. Now he has to rewrite the damn poem.


End file.
